Of Thieves and Vagabonds
by Chicklepea
Summary: BTVSPOTC When Dawn Summers sacrificed herself to save the world, of all the things she expected, landing in the middle of the Caribbean Ocean was not one of them. Chapter 11: The Art of Commandeering
1. It Starts with a Sacrifice

_Disclaimer: All characters, situations and destinations belong to Joss Whedon (creator of Buffy the Vampire Slayer), or Disney (creator of Pirates of the Caribbean). I do not claim to own anything other than the storyline. _

_Please note: this story takes place around fourteen years after the events in Worlds End._

Thankyou so much to Cylon One and Angel46 who have caught my mistakes and helped me improve my writing. They are both kind, amazing people!

**Of Thieves and Vagabonds **

**Chapter One / Prologue: It Starts with a Sacrifice**

"_The road of life twists and turns and no two directions are ever the same. Yet our lessons come from the journey, not the destination." _Don Williams Jr

Crimson droplets of blood dropped through the air. She watched them. Her blue eyes widened in horror. Her body paralysed in fear. The sharp searing pain at her waist only heightened the disbelief that consumed her mind.

It wasn't meant to be like this.

This wasn't meant to happen.

The blood fell through the air fusing with the elements. Nitrogen exploded. Oxygen dissolved. Argon froze. And then the entire thing exploded into crackling vicious energy. Other worlds swarmed beneath the surface, millions of them the bombarded the entrance. A dragon broke free; its snarling jaws let loose a jet of fire as it soared into the open sky, crying out into the new air.

The end of the world was upon them. The end of all worlds.

Dawn looked down at the cut on her stomach and a lone tear fell from her eye as what she had to do became clear.

"Dawn!"

She couldn't look back. If she turned to see her sister's face, the anguish, the sorrow and the love, she wouldn't be able to do it. She would leave the world, all worlds, to die and rot if it meant that her sister wouldn't have to look at her that way.

"I love you," she said, "But the blood has to stop flowing."

And then she jumped.

The energy hit her body as a whole: it ground her bones together, twisted her muscles and yanked on her spin. Her blood boiled in her veins and her skin itched with vicious fever.

She didn't know how long the pain lasted until a new pain arrived and the darkness consumed her. Icy needles assaulted her flesh and the air changed: no longer breathable; she clutched at her throat in panic and twisted and turned in search of some kind of exit. Darkness surrounded her. Dark waves of nothingness lay in every direction. Her struggles lessened and soon the darkness seeped into her mind, shutting it down until all inside fell silent.

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Captain Jack Sparrow turned and smirked at the lifeless men left upon the ship they had just recently looted. All that he saw were dying or dead. It had been a fine ship: filled with tobacco, sugar and -most importantly- rum. 

The pillage had gone perfectly, except for the small matter that he was on this ship, and his crew were on the other. A slight distraction had taken place just as they were returning to the Black Pearl. Jack spotted a shiny little trinket: a diamond necklace as it were.

It lay in the hands of a filthy man wearing a cooking apron. Obviously the cook had decided to steal the trinket for himself and make away with it. The bullet hole through his head proved the man to be unsuccessful in his endeavour, and so Jack dropped his rope and swaggered over. He lifted the trinket up in his grubby hands and shoved it down into his deep pockets to join all the other manner of things he kept in them.

"My apologies mate, but I think you'll find it be not quite made for your colou…," he paused: his eyes had fallen upon a rolled slip of parchment in the chef's pocket. He reached out a hand and gently slipped out the roll. The parchment unravelled in his hands and opened to reveal a map with a large X marking a spot in the centre. Jack's eyes brightened: he knew that island; it lay not far from Port Royal.

"Ye be an abnormally advantageous dead chef," said Jack to the corpse as he tipped his hat. He then hopped up onto the main bloom and swung across to where his own dear ship awaited him.

Jack landed upon the railing at the rear of the ship and grinned down at Barbosa, who was stood as through waiting for him.

"I thought you be dead Jack. We were just about to set sail."

Jack took his hat from his head and bowed in a flourish, "A measly little boat like that couldn't stop _Captain Jack Sparrow_ mate!" he said.

Barbosa grinned and tossed a rosy red apple in his hand, "Aye Jack. But I believe even _Captain Jack Sparrow_ must go and feed the fishes. Savvy?"

Jack stared at Barbosa for a moment in confusion before Barbosa went on, "Goodbye Jack," and with a rough shove knocked Jack Sparrow down in the depths of Davy Jones locker.

"Ahoy me hearties!" Barbosa called out to his crew, "Jack be fallen behind. Set the sails! I hear Tortuga callin me name!"

Jack crossed his arms over his chest as he sank down in the frigid waters. One of these days he would kill Barbosa, and one of these days Barbosa would stay dead.

Jack kicked hard with his legs and swam up to the surface just in time to watch the Black Pearl sail away without him, Barbosa on the wheel.

"Me ship. Will he please stop taking me ship!"

Growling he looked around for anything that could serve as a boat. After a moment of surveying the wreckage his eyes fell upon a wooden crate bobbing up and down. He swam towards it and was just about to climb aboard when two large blue eyes staring blankly upwards from beneath the water caught his attention.

He frowned at the sight and crossed his hands over his chest before taking a look around in case anyone saw. It was as eerie sight: one that reminded him too much of worlds end. He'd seen death many times before, but it had been a while since he'd seen one so young lost at sea. As a rule sailors didn't let children aboard ships, and they especially didn't let young girls aboard. Not if they could help it.

Instinct took over and he dove for the body, lifting it up on the crate out of the water. Her skin was cold to touch and had a pale ethereal appearance to it. Jack frowned and brushed a strand of the wet matted hair from her face. His arm slipped and fell upon her undeveloped chest nearly knocking her body back into the water.

"Well shiver me timbers," Jack whispered as a slow rhythm was felt beneath his hands. His eyes widened and without another pause he leant down and breathed life into the child.

The girl's mouth opened of its own accord and her chest expanded. Her head turned to the side and salt water began bubbling out of her lungs as she coughed violently.

With life brought pain and Dawn's eyes closed as the ache of her body took over her senses. She didn't know where she was, but she was too scared to open her eyes. Tears began to well behind her lids and soon the dam broke letting hundred of silent tears fall.

"You alright luv?" was Jack's warm and compassionate response to the tears.

Dawn heard the voice clearly in her head, though was unable to place it. She didn't recognise is as one of her friends, nor of any of her enemies.

"Where are we going?" Dawn rasped. Her voice was hoarse and she winced at the sharp cutting pains in her throat.

"_We_ ain't going nowhere luv." Jack said softly putting emphasis on the 'we'. "I be off to find me, me ship. You're going to stay right ere and wait for the Royal Navy to pick you up and carry you off to your 'ome. Savvy?"

And with that said Jack let go of the crate and swam off to another nearby, taking with him a lump of wood to use as a paddle.

Dawn felt him retreat and nervously opened her eyes. Her mouth dropped open in to a tiny o. She was surrounded by water as far as the eye could see, and not twenty yards away bobbed a magnificent wooden ship.

She surveyed her surroundings for a while, unable to move in fear of falling back into the water. She knew that she wouldn't be strong enough to swim; she wasn't even strong enough to lift up her head. She felt the darkness caving in once again, and the last thing she saw as her eyes drifted closed was the silhouette of a man on a raft sailing away, singing a song.

"...really bad eggs… Drink up me hearties yo ho!"

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This is the shortest chapter of this story. The rest of the chapters average at around 3,500 words each.

I have already written three quarters of this story and will update either on a Tuesday, Wednesday, or a Thursday, so you have at least 12 weeks of regular updates, and I am pretty sure that in twelve weeks I will have this story completed. I have a sequel half formed in my head already, but I will not start to plan that until I have finished writing this. This story contains no romance, the sequel, however, will.

I am looking for a good BETA reader; if you are interested please send me a PM and I will get back to you.

I have based my theory on the Portal around Phillip Pullmans idea in His Dark Materials. Basically there are millions of worlds all within this one, each unaware that the other exists. Likes layers upon layers of fabric. The Portal Glory created sliced through the fabric of the worlds. When Dawn closes the portal she is flung into a different world, this different world is behind her own world, but happening at the same time, if you understand me. It is not an alternate universe. She has no ancestors roaming around, nothing. In this world no one from her own world has ever, or will ever, exist.

**All feedback is greatly appreciated** and I will take all comments on board.


	2. The New World

_A/N: I'd like to thank my two wonderful reviewers; Shkrillz dot net and goldenshadows. Thank you both for your wonderful comments; this chapter is for you._

Thank you to Cylon One and Angel46 for catching my mistakes and pointing me in the right direction. You are both amazing! Thankyou!

**Chapter Two : The New World**

"_Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born." _Anais Nin

Dawn awoke feeling warm and comfortable. A warm flannel was being run across her forehead and soothing words were being whispered to her in a strong English accent.

"Giles?" Dawn whispered as she pushed her hands down on the mattress to push herself upright. She opened her eyes to a dimly lit cabin and felt rough, coarse hands pushing her back down. "Giles?" she asked again as an unfamiliar face swam into view.

"Lie down child," the voice said in a gentle tone: urging her to lie back,

Dawn took no notice and tried to look around the room only to find everything blending together. Her head span and her stomach churned. Then before she could stop herself her mouth opened and emptied the contents of her stomach out onto the bed sheets.

"Not to worry lass: just sea water." the man said as he managed to push her fatigued body back down, "Let me just get these sheets off and replaced with some clean ones, eh?"

Dawn nodded. She felt too rotten to put up a fight, or to even ask where she was. Her body ached, her throat hurt, and now her mouth tasted like regurgitated seaweed.

The man returned moments later and replaced her sheets with a smile. "Now then lass; you just need to be lying back and getting some rest. You're pretty bruised and battered from what I can see. Damn pirates."

Dawn nodded unable to do much else. A cup was placed against her lips and she swallowed the foul tasting liquid inside. "That's it lass, good girl. Now off you go to sleep."

As soon as the cup was taken from her lips Dawn felt her eyes flutter closed once again.

She awoke a day later feeling a little better. The same man as before was by her bed caring for her as he was last time. Dawn stared at him for a while unmoving, and then slowly struggled to sit up. The man took hold of her arms beneath her armpits and heaved her up, rearranging the pillows as he did.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, placing a weathered hand against her forehead.

"Where am I?" Dawn asked, wincing at the pain that still resided in her throat. The man reached across to a side-table and placed a cup once again to her lips. Dawn gagged on the foul taste of the liquid, but it soothed her smarting throat a little so she did not complain.

"If you will beg my pardon for interrupting Miss, but I believe that I may be of service here. You are aboard Lady Petunia and are headed to Port Royal. Our fine ship was attacked by pirates. Now, would you be so kind as to tell us who you might be? For I can assure you, you are not of our crew, nor were you a passenger, and I am quite certain you are no pirate. So how is it that you are found floating on a piece of debris out in the middle of the Caribbean Sea?"

It was a different voice that said this and Dawn's eyes rested on another occupant of the cabin. She hadn't noticed him before, but then again she hadn't taken in her surroundings. The man who had spoken was very well dressed; he looked as though he was planning on attending a formal dinner party or a wedding.

"I…I…" she faltered unsure what to say. She thought back over her memories of the last few days and tears sprang up in her eyes. Buffy's face on the water tower, the disbelief, the pain, the love. Why was it that the love always hurt the most?

"Sir, if I may be so bold… But I think that maybe right now is not the best time for questioning the girl."

"Perhaps you are right, Mr. Davis. I would, however, feel more comfortable knowing her name."

Mr. Davis, the man who had been caring for her, put a finger beneath her chin and lifted her face up to his, "May we have your name, lass?" he asked.

"Dawn," she choked, "Dawn Summers."

"Miss Summers, then." Mr. Davis said and then frowned, "Daughter of Mr. Summers the second chef aboard the Gallant I presume. I do recall him mentioning a daughter, his wife… your mother, recently passed away did she not?"

Dawn nodded and lifted a hand up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. Her heart burned at the mention of her mother and she looked down at her sheets to avoid having to see their pitying expressions. She knew it was a different Mr. and Mrs. Summers they were speaking about, but she didn't dare correct them for she hadn't got another excuse as to why she was there.

"Do not worry Miss. Summers. I am not a cruel man. No soul aboard this ship shall know of your deed, and when we return to port I will give you a place in the kitchen. I am sure Mr. James Davis, (Mr. Davis's son) won't be adverse to a little help."

"I'm sure he won't, Sir. You are too kind! Such a generous soul this world has never seen!" Mr. Davis cried.

"Delightful. I bid good day to you both and a speedy recovery for you Miss. Summers."

That was the last time Dawn saw the man who became her employer. Mr. Sanderson- she learned from Mr. Davis- was a fine and merciful gentleman; he lived in a town called Port Royal and his home was one of the grandest around.

She was confined to her bed for a week, most of which she spent reading the various books sent to her from Mr. Sanderson when it became apparent to Mr. Davis she could read. The books were mainly books on sailing, although there was one or two on various illnesses and the cures for them. Dawn chose to read the ones on sailing after flicking through the health ones and deeming them disgusting and disturbing.

The books were mind numbingly boring, but it took Dawn's mind off other things. The memories of back home haunted her more than the nightmares she had at night.

She learned a great many things from the books. Things like; if she felt sick at sea she should stare at the horizon for three long hours unmoving; and that if she threw stones into the sea the sea would get vexed and make big waves; and that she shouldn't cut her hair or nails while at sea… apparently the gods would get jealous if she gave an offering to another god in one god's kingdom.

The pain in her body soon resided enough to allow her to move and so it was at the end of the week that she decided to get up. Mr. Davis was beside her when she asked him for some clothes. She had been dressed in a large shirt that Dawn had a feeling was not suitable for a young girl to be running around in.

"Here you are Miss Summers," he said as he placed Dawn's dress before her.

Dawn stared at the offending item and swallowed a lump in her throat. It was the dress Glory had given her to wear. She gritted her teeth and reached a hand out to touch the fabric and ran a finger down a small section that had been stitched up.

"Aye. I stitched it right up for you. I did not think you would be wanting to get to work before you were even out of bed, Miss."

Dawn tried a smile at Mr. Davis, though it came out more as a grimace.

"Thank you," she said.

"I shall be leaving you to dress now. If you require help dressing I am at your service, but you are very nearly a young lady, and so should have a young lady at hand to help.

Alas, as it appears that we are rather short of those creatures; I am your only option. My apologies."

Dawn bit her lip and nodded whilst assuring Mr. Davis that she would be "quite fine dressing alone"

Getting out of bed was a difficult exercise. Her muscles complained viciously at the strain, and she wasn't standing long before her legs gave way and she crumpled to the ground. A squawk of protest left her and her bottom smarted at the impact of the wooden floor.

Pouting she tried again, and with slow movements she took to her feet. The sudden rush of blood caused her to go dizzy for a moment and her vision blackened. Before she knew it she was sitting back down on the side of her bed from where she had once again fell.

"I _can_ stand up!" Dawn hissed to herself and heaved herself to her feet for a third time. This time she stayed, although with a slight sway that Dawn suspected was more due to the fact that she was at sea.

Once she felt stable she unbuttoned the shirt down the front and let it drop down onto the deck. She surveyed the damage to her lithe frame and cringed at the bloodied bandage that was attached to her midriff. Careful fingers pealed away at the stained material revealing a grotesque slash crudely sewn together by inexperienced hands. It was disgusting.

The rest of her body didn't give her much hope. The once sun kissed skin of a Californian girl now looked pale and sickly, and large purple bruises with a greenish hue marred most of her body. She pressed her fingers against the skin on her face and felt for tender areas that could signify bruising. She dropped her hands to her sides once more and grabbed the dress off of the bed.

Putting the dress on was a painful process: one that snatched at her stitches and strained her muscles. She left the buttons on the back undone, deciding to call Mr. Davis when she was ready to fasten them for her.

The matted nest of hair upon her head was the next thing to be tackled. She sat cross-legged upon the bed for a full hour slowly prising apart each knot and tangle with her fingers. Only once she had got it to a state that she could run her fingers with little effort through the greasy strands did she stop and take a rest.

"Miss. Summers? Are you decent?" Mr. Davis called through the door with a light tapping of his fist on the wood.

"Yes Mr. Davis. I'm just resting. Is there anywhere I could have a wash?"

Mr. Davis entered then and beamed a jolly smile at the sight of her up and dressed. "Aye Miss. I'll go and get you a rag and water right away. It is very pleasing to see you up, Miss. Summers."

Dawn thanked him sincerely and took a couple of turns around the room to get use of her legs again as she waited for his return.

It's surprising what a clean face and neck can do to one's spirit. She was told not to wash any of the rest of her body as Mr. Davis feared that cold water on her frail body might result in a fever. But being clean, if only from the neck up, gave Dawn a new sense of hope.

"May I go and look about the ship?" she asked politely to Mr. Davis after he buttoned her dress and helped her put on her shoes.

"Of course Miss. Summers. I shall accompany you and introduce you to some of the more agreeable sailors if you wish it," said Mr. Davis,

"I would like that very much" Dawn replied and smiled at the proud look she received. After conversing with Mr. Davis so often she had unconsciously picked up a little of his accent and his manner of speaking. Mr. Davis, after having noticed how her accent was subtly changing to a more acceptable one, was always the first to correct her speech and explain the correct responses for a young lady. The books provided by Mr. Sanderson had also given Dawn a hint as to how she should speak if she didn't want to stick out.

The air up on deck was cool and refreshing. Mr. Davis took a lot of joy in pointing out various parts of the ship and the men that crewed them. The crew were not quite so welcoming as Mr. Davis. Many of them ducked their heads when they saw her as though she did not exist; others muttered dark whispers under their breath as she passed and crossed their hearts in a religious manner.

"The men say it is bad luck to have a woman on board," Mr. Davis said after Dawn nervously questioned their behaviour, "Superstitious fools are sailors; you'll do well to remember that. Most of the crew upon the Gallant would not so much as look at me until we left port. Me lovely red locks are bad luck, you see."

"Wasn't the Gallant attacked by Pirates, Mr. Davis?" Dawn asked, with a cheeky grin,

"Aye Miss. Summers, it was, but since I know you were not aboard the Gallant," Mr. Davis winked, "and the crew would not look at me until we left port, I am left to assume that the pirates attacked due to the large quantity of valuable goods on board, as opposed to being drawn to us by bad luck vibes."

"What makes you say I was not aboard the Gallant, Mr. Davis?" Dawn asked and commenced to fidget with seams on her dress white biting her lower lip. Mr. Davis turned them to a stop at the side of the ship to look out to sea.

"Because, Miss. Summers, the Mr. Summers in the kitchen was in fact a Mr. Smithers. Alas, my old age caused me to mishear my acquaintances name. An honest mistake I am sure. I do not wish to know where you came from, nor why you are here. Such knowledge can only be an evil to a man like me, and so I pray you, let me be ignorant."

"Thank you Mr. Davis." Dawn said with a soft smile, "And I promise you that I am here with no ill intentions."

After that day Dawn spent as much time as she could out on deck. The stuffiness of her cabin and the lack of variety in reading material drove her out into the hostile environment with a smile on her face. Mr. Davis encouraged it as much as he could; he believed that fresh air and a little exercise should soon set her to rights.

The slash across her midriff was healing nicely now. She got a slight infection during her second week out on deck, but that was soon cleared up in a manner Dawn would never want to repeat again. Having maggots eat away at the dead flesh is not the nicest of sensations, and neither is having alcohol poured over the open wound to disinfect it, before having it dressed by the coarse and clumsy hands of a sailor. Never again would she complain at the sight of the iodine bottle.

She was even delighted to say that she had found one friend amongst the crew. A young man named Mr. Tittermouse. She spotted him as soon as she left her cabin on the afternoon of her sixteenth day at sea and rushed over automatically to speak with him.

"Tittermouse!" Dawn called in friendly greeting and came to a pause besides his bucket. He was scrubbing the deck this day: although to Dawn it appeared as though he did that everyday.

"Miss. Dawn," Mr Tittermouse greeted with a smile, "how are you this fine morn?"

His voice was slow and steady, and it took him an uncommonly long time to string together a sentence, but Dawn didn't mind.

"I'm good. You?"

"You and your oddities, Miss. Dawn," Mr. Tittermouse said with a chuckle, "I am perfectly fine: although if your side is healed I would not be opposed to a little help and company."

Dawn grinned and without a reply plopped herself ungracefully down at his side and took a scrubbing brush out of the bucket. They worked in silence with the occasional observation from Dawn and the odd hint and direction of proper scrubbing from Mr. Tittermouse. Company always makes a job take half the time, even when you have an entire deck to scrub, and before they knew it they were at the other end of the ship.

They stopped there for a rest and sat leaning on the railing, and Dawn then began with her questions.

Already she had learned from him that he was from London, and that he was from a wealthy family of great consequence. He had mentioned that he was no longer in his father's will and that he worked upon the ship to send money back to his wife and child, but that was as far as he was willing to divulge. Dawn had prodded and poked at every hole but he had remained stubbornly silent on any other matter surrounding his disownment.

"Do sailors really believe in mermaids?" Dawn asked this day as she chewed on a piece of hardtack dipped in her grog.

"Some," he said with a chuckle, "They lure sailors off of ships into the sea and drown them in its depths. It is said that they are creatures of the devil, soulless sirens of the sea that feed from human flesh," -Dawn winkled her nose- "but that is just one myth. There are hundreds of myths surrounding mermaids… it just depends how much rum the man was drinking, who saw the creature." Mr. Tittermouse winked at her and Dawn giggled a little. "I don't believe in mermaids, nor any other mythical creature, Miss Dawn, as you very well know. I don't even believe in the existence of the Kraken."

Dawn's interest peaked at the name, but before she could ask what a Kraken was another voice cut through their conversation.

"Ye be a fool Tittermouse. The Kraken, Miss, be a terrible sea monster. The last thing you'd be knowing be the hideous breath and the roar of the Kraken before it ate you whole and dragged you down to Davy Jones locker. It be extinct now, or so I'm told, murdered by Davy Jones himself. They say it be the Kraken that finally beat the legendary, Captain Jack Sparrow"

"Nay, Mr. Hoel! You be getting it wrong. The Kraken did not beat Jack Sparrow! It is said that Jack fought the Kraken and killed it himself before dragging the body of the beast to shore on a raft of sea turtles."

"No, no, you're both wrong! Jack Sparrow was killed and sent to fiddlers green! It is said that Davy Jones enlisted the help of the goddess Calypso to bring him back to earth to save his love, the pirate king, Elizabeth Turner."

"I be thinking the Pirate King be Elizabeth Swan!"

"Nay, there is no pirate king. Never was! And Elizabeth was the love of Jack Sparrow! Davy Jones fell in love with sea and cut out his still beating heart when he learned that the ever changing tides could never love him back."

"The Pirate king was not the bride of Jack Sparrow! The Pirate king was the wife of Davy Jones!"

"Who's Jack Sparrow?" Dawn asked loudly to make herself heard over the bickering sailors.

"Jack Sparrow? The lass has never heard of Captain Jack Sparrow? The fearsome pirate that captained the Black Pearl before he be viciously mutinied against by his first mate?"

Dawn shook her head and the small gang of sailors who had gathered to join in the discussion each took on a look of shock. One balding sailor with a wooden leg clomped forward and leant down to Dawn's eye level. Dawn tried her best not to screw up her face in disgust as his rotting breath wafted over her, "Jack Sparrow be the most notorious pirate to sail the seven seas! Calypso herself was said to be his lover…" said he,

"It was not!" came the protests from various other sailors surrounding them.

"It was so! Aye, Calypso herself! She gave him a gift: a compass that points to whatever the holder most desires. Some say he is dead, lying at the bottom of Davy Jones locker, others say he's in the Kraken's stomach, but I think he still lives… He's out there somewhere… Aye, you mark my words missy. Jack Sparrow still lives."

"Mr. Peckan, would you kindly stop filling this young lady's head with pirate nonsense. Get back to work men!"

Dawn watched the sailors rush off to find something to do before they were punished, leaving Dawn with the captain who smiled down at her kindly.

"Don't mind them Miss Summers: the sea has addled their brains. I suggest you go back to your rooms and get some rest."

Dawn nodded and gave a clumsy curtsy before rushing back to the safety of her cabin.

Dawn spent the rest of the evening in her cabin learning the art of sewing from Mr. Davis. It was decided that since she was here she should make herself useful, and so she was given the sailors' garments to stitch up where they had been damaged. In reality Mr. Sanderson had heard of her conversation with the sailors and had requested something be done with her free time: something more ladylike and respectable than cavorting with half drunken men, and listening to tall tales.

"Ouch." Dawn pouted as she stuck the rusty needle into her thumb for the hundredth time. She sucked the offending limb sulkily. An expired sigh escaped Mr. Davis and he yanked her thumb from her mouth saying in a stern voice,

"Miss. Summers, it is not ladylike to suck one's thumb! And I told you that this garment requires a backstitch for strength, a running stitch just won't hold!"

"I'm sorry Mr. Davis, but I'm a totally sucky sower and I'm not gonna get better, okay?" Dawn groaned. A puzzled and slightly annoyed look greeted this statement.

"I have not a clue what you just spoke to me, but I was under the impression that your English had been improving these last few weeks. Please say I am not mistaken?"

Dawn took a deep breath and lifted the sewing up once again in her hands, "I am to take a stitch and a space. Then take the needle back over the space and bring it out the same distance in front of the thread, and I right Mr. Davis?" she worked the stitch as she said it, before looking up at Mr. Davis's face. A small smile had wheedled its way on to his before irate face.

"Correct Miss. Summers," he answered to both the question on her sewing and the other unasked question on her behaviour. To pretend an insult was never uttered in order to avoid an unpleasant situation, and to steer the conversation away, was an agreeable trait for a young lady.

That was the one definite plus to this universe. You didn't have to deal with anything unpleasant. If someone insulted you, you could ignore it and carry on as before and no one would bat an eyelid, and just as equally, you could insult someone else and they would do the same. All the un-pleasantries of life were swept under the carpet to promote an agreeable conversation, and for someone like Dawn there was no better way for her to live.

"Come Miss. Dawn!" Mr. Tittermouse called to her early one evening after knocking upon her chamber door, "We are but a half a day's journey from Port Royal, and if you come now you can see the first glimpses of land!"

Dawn was out in a second, bare-footed and scampering across the deck to see. "Do you see a horizon?" Mr. Tittermouse asked after Dawn complained of seeing nothing but sea. Dawn contemplated it for a while before frowning and saying that no, there were no signs of a horizon… well, not the straight one that the sea usually offered. "Then you see land, Miss. Dawn, and when your namesake arises our journey shall be at an end" said he with a wistful smile.

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_Authors Notes_

_This is an early update, but I decided that I had better change the update date from Friday to Wednesday. Namely, because if I can't get on the computer in the day, I'll be too drunk at night to even consider updating. So enjoy your early treat!_

_I have put a lot of work and research into this chapter, as I have with the entire of this story. I am not perfect, however, and so if there are any parts that are incorrect please notify me of them. The same goes for any spelling errors or grammar mistakes. _

**Please leave a review! I love feedback of all kinds, even if it is bad. I would never hold a chapter hostage due to my lack of reviews, no matter what, you will get one chapter a week. But if I don't get at least a couple reviews, beware, I will get increasingly grouchy in my author notes. **

**So, leave me a review.**

**I'll buy you an emu,**

**I'll name it little Gary,**

**And you it will carry,**

**Through the land of emu-review.**


	3. Mucus Coloured Ribbons

A/N: I would like to thank all my reviewers. This chapter is for each of you to share with my readers of new.

A Big thankyou to my beta/editors, Cylon One and Angel46 who have been kind and smart enough to catch my mistakes.

**Chapter Three : Mucus Coloured Ribbons**

"_After great pain, a formal feeling comes. The Nerves sit ceremonious, like tombs." _Emily Dickinson

By the time Dawn was woken the next morning they were already in the harbour, and most of the sailors were off the ship roaming around. She was woken by Mr. Davis who wanted nothing more than to get her off of the ship and onto dry land.

Mr. Davis was not a sea-man. He had only been on the journey because Mr. Sanderson insisted upon his own chef accompanying him on any journey away from home.

The second she stepped up on deck she spotted the lanky form of Tittermouse leant over the railings; he wasn't looking at the land, instead he was gazing out at the long blue stretch of sea, dotted with the occasional ship.

"Tittermouse!" Dawn called, as she ran over to his side.

"Miss Dawn," said he in greeting with a sad sort of smile, "I am not a lover of goodbyes, but I doubt very much that we shall ever see one another again."

"I doubt it too," said Dawn. She wrapped her arms around his lank middle and buried her head in his chest. "I'll miss you."

"And I you."

The goodbye to Mr. Tittermouse had her to weeping all the way to her new home. She hardly saw the picturesque town of Port Royal, and she utterly ignored Mr. Davis's scolding on her intimate actions with the sailor.

"Papa!"

They were half-way up the gravel walkway of the Sanderson house, when a young boy of around sixteen came bounding out of the servant's door whooping in delight as he scurried over to where Dawn and Mr. Davis were walking. Mr. Davis opened his arms for the lad who ran into them with the enthusiasm of a five-year-old.

"I thought you dead Papa! No word of any survivors was sent back after the attack became known."

Dawn scrubbed the tears from her eyes and watched the display with longing. Mr. James Davis was a little older than her, but Mr. Davis did not tell him that he was too old for such acts of comfort. A feeling of unease spread through her; it felt as though she should not be watching this private moment, and so she looked down at her tattered shoes instead.

"There was indeed an attack, my boy, but Mr. Sanderson and I made it to safety. I have brought you back a friend and a helping hand in the kitchen. Miss. Dawn Summers; may I introduce you to my son, Mr. James Davis."

Dawn looked up and gave a slight curtsy, but once again averted her eyes at the tears that glistened on Mr. James Davis's cheeks.

"A pleasure to meet you Miss Summers," he said with warmth and a slight tip of the head.

"Such a gentleman is he not, Miss Summers? The late Mrs. Davis was a fine teacher, a fine, fine teacher," gushed Mr. Davis, booming with pride.

"He is very gentlemanlike Mr. Davis," said Dawn and threw an apologetic look at the now blushing James Davis. Mr. Davis's smile nearly tore apart his face at the praise of his son, and he took Dawn's arm with a hearty laugh,

"And this, son, has to be the most handsome young lady I have met since your mother!" he said.

The father and son led Dawn into the house and showed her around the lower quarters as though they were tour guides at Buckingham Palace. Dawn enjoyed every minute. Her loss of Tittermouse soon eased at the prospect of more friendly faces. Well, _that_, and Mr. James Davis was a very handsome young man.

He had inherited very few of his father's features and was neither red headed nor round: instead he took after his mother and had dark hair and dark eyes; as Mr. Davis liked to point out to anyone who would listen. At first meeting with him Dawn was quite smitten, and couldn't wait to become better acquainted.

They were just rounding up their tour when Mr. Davis turned to Dawn once more, "Mr. Sanderson has sent down you some fresh clothes Miss. Summers, as an advance on your wages. Such a trusting man; a generous heart; we are lucky souls to be under his employ, are we not?"

A smile and nod answered this statement, although inside she was jumping with joy. To get out of that hideous dress would be pure bliss. A shower wouldn't go amiss either, and she was utterly ecstatic when she was told that the maidservants were preparing her one while she was being given the tour.

"Aye Miss, the young ladies under Mr. Sanderson's employ are the most ladylike around. Very amiable and always willing to help where they can. You will not find such good help elsewhere, I'll bet!"

Mr. Davis hadn't lied either and Dawn was soon being fussed over by the three maidservants she would be sharing her quarters with. The two Mr. Davis's retired to the kitchens after they dropped her off in her quarters, with a promise from Mr. James Davis to take her to town with him at one o' clock, when he went to pick up a goose for tonight's welcome home roast.

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"Now Miss. Summers, just be closing your eyes so that the soap does not sting them,"

This was not her idea of a pleasant bath. Dawn was sorely disappointed. She was sat in a metal tub filled with lukewarm water, and wasn't even given a moment to herself so that she might soak in peace. Miss Martins- the eldest maidservant in the household- insisted on helping her bathe. Dawn suspected it was more to gather information on where she had been and where she came from, as opposed to actually wanting to be helpful. Questions after questions were continuously fired at her and Dawn was more than aware that her answers were not satisfactory, nor detailed enough, to make Miss Martins happy.

After her bath her wound was dressed and cleaned once more. But this time with a skilled and gentle touch that she greatly appreciated. She was dressed in a long white dress of a soft sort of cotton and a nice light blue apron was placed over the top: it was the standard uniform that all the servants wore in the Sanderson household. It was rather plain and not at all flattering, but to be out of that filthy dress and into something clean and fresh was ecstasy. Miss Martins even helped her put her hair up into a nice pony tail and tied it with one of her own blue ribbons.

"Now then, don't you look better Miss Summers?" Miss Martins said with a smile once they were all done. Dawn nodded as she peered into the small looking glass Miss. Martins held up. The bruises on her face were gone, and her face had regained most of its colour. "Just need to feed you up a bit and you shall be right as rain!"

"Thank you Miss Martins," said Dawn, "and I simply can't wait for something to eat that I can chew as opposed to suck."

Laughter followed this and Dawn was assured that tonight the servants would have a feast in celebration of their master's safe return. There was even a possibility that Mr. Sanderson might send them down some port, as tomorrow would be Sunday, and they could all sleep in.

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Mr. James Davis arrived to pick her up at exactly the time stated and Dawn was more than pleased to get out. She had decided that although Miss Martins was a nice lady, she was also a terrible gossiper that loved the sound of her own voice. Dawn could tell from the surprised lift of his eye-brows that he was pleasantly surprised at how she looked, and she cringed at the thought of what she looked like when he first met her.

"How do you find Port Royal, Miss Summers?" Mr. James Davis said as they headed through the thin twisting streets. He was keeping the conversation agreeable, and did not mention anything about her trip; it was as though she had never been on the ship, and was just another stranger in town. Dawn liked him all the more for it, and smiled up at him as they walked.

"I'm not sure yet. I have not been here long enough, and I am still getting over the delight of being clean."

Mr. James Davis laughed, but of course this led to a question on life at sea, and Dawn cursed herself for bringing it up. She did not want to remind him anymore of how she appeared on their first meeting; in fact, if it were up to her she would erase that memory from his mind forever.

"How is life at sea? Father doesn't say much other than to criticise the experience," he asked.

"Your father tells no lies: it is simply awful," was Dawn's reply, "The food is disgusting and the drink is even worse. Sailors are superstitious morons with no personal hygiene, and they tell the most ridiculous tales! The ones about Jack Sparrow had to be the best, not a single one of them could agree!"

"It is not wise to mention that name here Miss Summers, pray, do not speak of pirates out in town," Mr. Davis said in a hushed and urgent voice, "Pirates are not tolerated in Port Royal, not even speaking of them. Jack Sparrow is, perhaps, the worst."

Dawn's eye-brows rose and she moved closer to Mr. Davis, "So he's real then?" she whispered, "not made up?"

He shook his head, "he is real: a beast of a man, or so I am told. But pray be silent on the matter or you shall get us both a flogging."

The idea that Jack Sparrow was real and not some myth was both an unsettling and pleasant shock to Dawn.

Town was bustling with life: people of all shapes and sizes ranging from high society to the lowest of the low were rushing around full of liveliness and cheer. It was such a contrast to spending nearly a month at sea with only ragged sailors as company. Dawn giggled as a young boy and girl of no older than five chased each other round and round a fountain brandishing wooden sticks like weapons.

"Mr. Peters! Well met good sir" …"and how is Mrs. Peters?" …"Delightful! Have you met Miss Summers? The newest addition to our household,"

Dawn, who had been half listening to James Davis's voice as opposed to the conversation, started at the mention of her name and got her foot caught on a rather large cobble. James Davis grabbed her arm at once and steadied her footing asking her repeatedly if she was ok and whether the heat was causing her to be weary.

"No, no, I'm good. I mean, I'm fine, I mean, sorry… Just tripped. Thank you." Dawn blushed and barely refrained from hiding her head in her hands.

James Davis smiled at her in bemusement for a moment, before turning back to Mr. Peters, "You must pardon Miss Summers; she has just returned from some time at sea. Her ship was ravaged by pirates; I am sure you heard the stories. She is a little unstable at this time,"

Mortified. No other word could describe Dawn at the moment. She stared aghast at James Davis and at Mr. Peters as he nodded knowingly. Where was the sweet and kind James Davis she had been just walking with? He was teasing her! Her eyes widened and she knew not whether to be vexed or pleased.

As soon as they were out of earshot Dawn turned on him; she was too mortified to be pleased, and so vexed was her only other option, "Way to make me sound insane!" she whined stamping her foot angrily. James Davis chuckled at her enraged face and merely sidestepped her to carry on walking.

"You should pay attention during a conversation," he said with a smirk,

"I was paying attention," said she and stuck her nose in the air to adopt the act of superiority. This of course only caused James Davis to laugh more heartily and to stop in his stride and turn around to face her.

"Are you coming, Miss Summers? Or do you plan to stand in the centre of town having a paddy because you have the concentration span of a drunken pirate?"

His smart alec tone and teasing persona sent Dawn into a full on mood and she stormed past him with what James Davis thought was the most adorable flounce in her step. Jogging to catch up he shook his head and held back another laugh at her expense,

"Miss Summers… Miss Summers… Miss Summers please…"

"Stop laughing," was her gritted reply. This was so embarrassing, why did he have to make it worse?

"I am not laughing, Miss Summers," James Davis bit the inside of his lip and coughed to cover up the inevitable chuckle.

"You clearly are!" exclaimed she, throwing her arms out in emphasis; James Davis ducked out of the way of her flailing arms and slapped a hand over his mouth to hold in the laughter.

"I am not,"

"Are too,"

"Am not,"

"Are too,"

"I am most definitely not!"

"You are most definitely are!"

"That did not make sense, Miss Summers,"

"And now you're criticizing my English!"

James Davis groaned, rolling his eyes heavenward. He was seconds from giving up when he spotted a young gangly boy skulking behind a stand filled with various fruits and vegetables, "Ah! Jonas!" he called, ignoring Dawn and jogging over to the stand. Dawn pouted at being ignored, but didn't comment and instead scampered to keep up with his increased stride,

"James mate! Ow ya doin? An who's this fine young lass eh?"

"This would be Miss Summers: an argumentative and slightly unstable young lady come from across the seas." A sharp dig in the ribs from said young lady made James Davis wince and smirk at her livid form, "violent too," he added.

"Aye! But, a very handsome, argumentative, unstable and violent lass, she be."

"I can not argue that Jonas, for she is indeed a very handsome young lady-" a blush spread across Dawn's face and she ducked her head to avoid it being noticed- "Now onto business: is your uncle home? I am in want of a goose..."

The rest of the conversation was lost on Dawn who stopped listening after James Davis called her pretty, well handsome, which she supposed was the same thing.

It did not take long to get a goose from Jonas, and Dawn helped James Davis carry it back to the Sanderson household. Their argument was soon forgotten as James Davis took it upon himself to point out each and every person that passed, letting Dawn know who they were, and what standing they had.

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Just as Miss Martins promised, that night they had a lovely feast in the servant's quarters. Dawn was placed between Mr. James Davis and Miss Burkly. Miss Burkly was a loud, boisterous young lady that seemed to take delight in making people blush; she worked in and around the house cleaning everything in sight.

Mr. Sanderson did indeed send them down some port and each servant around the table was given a small glass. The content of Dawn's found its way into Mr. James Davis's glass after her first sip. She wasn't as sneaky as she first thought and it wasn't long before a smirking Mr. James Davis was at her ear,

"Port is considered a delicacy among us lower class folk," a heat spread across Dawn's face and she bit her lip before replying in a hushed whisper,

"I can't drink it… it tastes funny and I'll be sick… please don't say anything…" she begged.

Mr. James Davis backed away and granted her with a sort of half smile, before shaking his head in amusement and taking an overly pompous swig of the fortified wine. Dawn snorted and shook her head in mirth.

"What are you two whispering so secretively about?" Miss Martins cut in, her beady eyes narrowed in curiosity. Both Dawn and Mr. James Davis flushed with colour though for different reasons: Dawn through embarrassment and Mr. James Davis through withheld laughter at said embarrassment.

"I believe Mr. James Davis was serenading our little Miss Summers with sweet nothings, and thanks for the extra drop of Port she just provided him with." Miss. Burkley announced with glee. It was obvious that she adored knowing more than Miss Martins in the gossip column, even if was as trivial and patched up as this.

"Miss Burkley I assure you, you are mistaken," he snapped sounding sterner than Dawn had heard him in her short acquaintance, "Miss Summers offered me the Port after confessing that after spending so much time at sea she fears her stomach could not take something so strong. She did not wish to appear ungrateful for the privilege of being given it. I would most kindly like for you to keep your ridiculous assumptions to yourself."

"Its true," whispered Dawn, who admittedly had only been able to pick at the food she was given. Her sudden shyness was wonderment to Mr. James Davis who couldn't help but contrast this Miss. Summers to the strong willed and utterly stubborn one of before.

"My apologies Miss," a little colour rose in Miss Burkley's cheeks as she apologised and she took Dawn's hand as though to show she was sincere, "it was said in jest."

"Its fine," said Dawn softly averting her eyes and feeling terribly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the table. As though sensing her unease Mr. Davis stood up from the table and asked in a loud voice if anyone fancied joining him in a game of Black Jack.

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Time passed with great speed after that night and before Dawn knew it she had been working in the Sanderson household for two whole months.

"Dawn, do you insist on dawdling everywhere we go?"

Mr. James Davis was now one of her most intimate friends, and seemed to take great pleasure in annoying her. It was Sunday morning and they were headed to church to sing God's praises. Dawn loved Sundays. Although all the preparation needed meant that Saturday nights were spent bathing in the god awful tubs, putting her hair in rags- that resulted in one getting hardly any sleep- and scrubbing her best dress to make sure that not an inch was dirty: but it was still worth it to see the results come Sunday morning.

A head of adorable shiny curls tied up in a bright blue ribbon was enough to make Dawn giddy. Then she also got to wear her white dress with blue lace that simply looked charming, and floated so prettily when she walked that she felt like a princess. Well, so long as she didn't look over at the higher class families who truly did look like princesses.

"I'm not dawdling," she called back to James, "you just walk too fast!"

"Miss Dawn, do come along now," Mr. Davis called back, chuckling at their behaviour.

Dawn relented and lifted up the bottom of her dress to run along beside the men. "Sorry Mr. Davis," she said pleasantly, and stuck her tongue out at James.

"Congratulations; you ran more than two steps without tripping over your frock," James teased earning him a slap around the back of the head from his father. Dawn's clumsiness was a running joke with James, who just loved to point it out. Broken plates, dropped food and ripped clothing seemed to follow Dawn around like the plague.

The service was utterly boring as usual, and James had to pinch her more than once to stop her from nodding off. Unfortunately Mr. Davis noticed this week and took to lecturing Dawn all the way to Mr. and Mrs. Peters where they were headed for a nice friendly teta-tea. It didn't help that Dawn kept giggling each time James pulled a face at her and sniggered when she was reproached for it.

The next morning Dawn and James got up extra early on Dawn's insistence that they go to town so that she could spend a little of her wages.

"What do you think?" asked Dawn modelling a pink ribbon to James, who scrunched his nose up,

"You own nothing pink,"

"I could unpick that ugly brown ribbon on my other dress and replace it with this: there would even be enough left for my hair." James still frowned and looked around before lifting up a dark green ribbon,

"This one is much more handsome: it matches your eyes!"

Dawn raised her eyebrows and placed her hands on her hips, "My eyes are blue."

"The mucus in your nose then," said he with a chuckle,

"Eww; that is disgusting!" she complained throwing the ribbon back at him, "I can't possibly buy that now. What do you think of the Lilac?"

James studied the ribbon for a long moment before coming to a decision and nodding his head, "Better than the pink. I approve."

Laughter erupted from Dawn's mouth as she paid a half-penny for the lilac ribbon, "You could have just said that you didn't like the pink."

"I did not wish to insult you."

She shot him a look of disbelief and linked her arm through his to drag him over to the cooked apple stand in hopes of coaxing a free one from Mrs. Hughley. This day they were in luck, and after nipping across town on a couple errands for Mrs. Hughley they were awarded with a deliciously sweet apple each.

They arrived back at the house a little after eight and were reprimanded by Mr. Davis almost immediately for their tardiness.

"It is not considered ladylike nor gentlemanly to be tardy! Your mother was never tardy James, not once."

They spent the rest of the morning laughing between one another as they polished the morning cutlery and set the breakfast trays out ready for Miss. Martins to take up to the breakfast room.

"What was your mother like?" asked Dawn while they waited for the plates to be returned to the kitchens for washing. James smiled and jumped up to sit besides her on the wooden table.

"Beautiful. She was so smart. Mother was a gentleman's daughter, not a well to do one, but a gentleman's all the same. My father loved her, doted on her…"

"What happened?"

"She caught a fever after falling into the sea. Father was just returning from one of his trips with Mr. Sanderson: it had been a long trip: almost a year. She had been so worried about him that she had barely eaten the entire time he was away… She had been so excited to see him that when he returned she ran to greet him before he was even off the ship, but she did not look where she was going and fell into the sea. Father jumped in after her and pulled her out onto land. But she was so weak from not having proper nourishment that she caught the fever…" he trailed off and looked down at his hands,

"I lost my mother too," Dawn offered, to show her understanding "she got a brain tumour: an incurable illness of the head. She didn't even know who I was sometimes." Dawn glanced over to where Mr. Davis was talking to one of the other chefs, "my father wasn't around… he didn't really care for us. It was just me and my sister. I thought I'd be home by now."

James wrapped an arm around her shoulders compassionately, "you are home…are you not?"

A mirthless laugh escaped her lips before she could stop it, "I love it here, with you and Mr. Davis… but I really thought I'd be home, _home_, by now… I thought my sister would have come and got me like she always does…I bet she thinks I'm dead… How could I let her go on thinking I'm dead? She's lost everything already and then to lose me too…" she glanced up at James to see his sad gaze "I'm sorry, I just…" a tear escaped her eye and she scrubbed it off with the back of her hand, "look! The plates are back from breakfast," and without another word she jumped off the table top and walked over to the sink to wash up.

James followed at a more sedate pace before coming to a stop besides her and taking a rag to dry what she passed to him. "You are like the sister I never wanted, but I love you, and if you ever find a way to get home I shall do my best to help, no matter how much I wish you to stay."

Bubbly arms encircled him in a warm embrace as she whispered her thank-you's into his collar.

But despite James's warm words Dawn's mood did not improve over the weeks that followed. She was more and more downcast at the prospect of never seeing her sister again; many nights she would cry herself to sleep, and there were many days that she would disappear straight from work, not to be seen for many hours afterwards.

All the staff were getting increasingly worried for her, Mr. Davis in-particular would continuously inquire after her health, and would not let her leave the table until after she had eaten a satisfactory amount.

She hated making them worry, but how could she explain to them, that the only thing she wanted, was to go home.

* * *

_A/N To my anonymous reviewer named A/N. Thank you for telling me about the spelling mistake in the summary; I have corrected it now, and I am forever in your debt. I spent so long on that summary, and read it over so many times that I can only hang my head in shame for having missed it. _

_Just one and a half chapters until Dawn's adventure really starts. I figured that Dawn would take longer to jump into action; after all, before now her sister has always come and got her. _

_Sorry that the update is a little late; I could not get on the computer all of yesterday and so couldn't put up the new chapter. I am SO sorry!_

_A couple of points to make: possible spoilers ahead. _

_1. Mr. James Davis. He is an original character and has nothing to do with James Norrington. I named him James after looking for popular names in the 18__th__ century. It was only after I had written his character throughout the next couple of chapters that I realised that he had the same name as Norrington. But unfortunately he was already James in my head, and I couldn't change it. _

_2. This story is not romance. James Davis, although important to the story, will not follow Dawn on her adventure. The only slight romance will take place at the very end of the story, and have only a very slight hint of liking. _

_3. Mr. James Davis. Mr. Davis. And James. I have tried to use the titles as they were used at that time. Mr Davis, being the father, is called Mr Davis. Of course, we can't have two Mr Davis's running around, and so, being younger, his son when in the company of his father, would be called Mr James Davis. However, once a more intimate friendship is made then Mr James Davis would become known as James to Dawn; being equals this is acceptable. Mr Davis on the other hand will always be known as Mr Davis as he is older than her, and it would be disrespectful for her to call him anything else. _

_I am aware that they are servants, and would be a lot less formal than I have made them. But Mr Davis likes to think that he is educated like his wife, and his son has been taught the same manners. Naturally Mr Davis has taught those manners to Dawn… It is just Mr Davis's character really. _

_4. Yes Dawn has a slight crush on James. Dawn is a teenager. What good-looking guy doesn't she have a crush on? _

_**PLEASE LEAVE ME A REVIEW! They make me smile! And if you review I promise Jack Sparrow will make an appearance in the very next chapter!! (Actually the chapter is already written, so I already know that he is making an appearance… but why don't you just forget that, and pretend that I'm going to add him in only if you review!) **_

_**So! Press the button at the bottom**_

_**And leave a review, so I've got'em**_

_**I'll give you cookies with lots of cream,**_

_**And send you a naughty pirate dream!**_


	4. Son of a Pirate

**Thankyou to Cylon One who has been acting as my Beta for a while now. She has caught so many of my silly mistakes and I am forever indebted to her. Of course to save her reputation I'd like to add that new chapters are only edited after they have been posted. So if any of you want to make sure you read the edited version then I suggest you wait about a week before you read a new chapter. Thankyou again Cylon One; you are a godsend! **

I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

* * *

**Chapter Four : Son of a Pirate**

"_If at first, the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it." _Albert Einstein

Howling winds and torrential rains attacked Port Royal as a magnificent electrical storm thundered over head. Dawn had been here for nigh on four months now. Her only hope of going home was rumbling from the dark, menacing clouds that spread across the sky.

"Miss Dawn, come in immediately before you catch your death! Silly girl!" Mr. Davis shouted; he was dripping wet from head to toe and had to scream over the noise of the storm.

The low wall that edged the beach served as her seat as she stared out into the crashing waves. Her pretty cream dress was soaked through and clung to her like a second skin, but she did not care. The bursts of lightning that cut through the sky were the same as those that opened the portal. Any moment now a small figure would drop through and her sister would come running across the beach to her, scolding her for getting into trouble as she always did.

"Miss Dawn, if you do not come in willingly I will drag you myself kicking and screaming, now GET IN THIS HOUSE,"

She jumped as his voice cut over a crack of thunder, and with a thump she tumbled backwards onto the dirty hard ground. She barely had time to wince before she was being heaved up by Mr. Davis.

His face has a feral look to it and his eyes flashed with anger. A large cloak was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and Mr. Davis's strong arms gripped her and steered her back towards the Sanderson household. A few protests left her lips but they were drowned out by the wind.

When she entered the warmth of the house her mind was numb with shock; she could see the maidservants staring at her, but she could not seem to form words. Mr. Davis's arms still held her, but it wasn't long before he had thrown her from him and into the arms of Miss Burkly.

"Miss Dawn!" Miss Burkly cried as she took in her sopping wet state, "what on earth were you doing out in the storm?"

"Being a silly and selfish child is what she was doing!" Mr. Davis snapped.

"Father?" James frowned at his father's red face and throbbing temple, and quickly surveyed the room to see whom his father's ire was directed at. His eyes fell upon the sobbing Dawn and took in the wet clothes and dripping hair. "You were out in the storm." It wasn't a question, but Dawn nodded anyway.

"Come Miss Dawn, let's get you warm and dry," came Miss Berkly's unusually soft voice. A warm bath was quickly prepared and Dawn was soon stripped and left in it to regain the heat she lost.

"He has a right to be angry you know," it was Miss Martins and Dawn snuggled down into the warm blanket she had been provided with the moment she was dry and out of the bath. The stern woman then came behind her shoving Miss Burkly out of the way and took up the rags to put in Dawn's hair. "You should not endanger your life like that."

"I wasn't endangering my life Miss Martins, I swear!" she protested,

"You were so Miss Dawn! And you are not out of the clear yet. You could catch a terrible fever from such a stunt."

Dawn's eyes dropped in shame and her fingers began to pick at the stitching on the blanket, "like Mrs. Davis," she whispered.

"Yes Miss Dawn… Just like Mrs. Davis."

A moment of silence passed between them with just the sound of Miss Burkly clearing away the bathing things and the odd tug on her head from Miss Martins doing her hair. After a while Miss Burkly spoke up,

"Why? I mean, sorry, but it is a rather odd thing to do. Why did you wish to sit out in the storm?"

Her face heated up and she could barely look at them, "I thought… it's so foolish… I thought that the storm would make things back the way they were… that it would take me home back to my sister, or better yet, bring my sister to me."

"You are right, it was foolish," Dawn blinked at the unexpected stern reprimand, "If you wish to go home you should stop waiting for home to find you. Maybe it's about time that you started to search for home."

"But I don't know where it is,"

"Have you never heard of the Legendary Pond of Hermes, Miss Dawn?" Dawn shook her head just as Miss Martins cut over,

"Really Miss Burkley! Pray do not fill this child's head with your nonsense stories!"

"Tis not nonsense! My grandmother told me of it back when I was just a child. The Gem of Hermes is said to be able to take you anywhere you wish in the blink of an eye! To other worlds if you desire it.

Beneath the waves but up in air

A key of blood to pay the fare

This way and that way lay the gem

A silent chant is to be spoken then.

That's the riddle she told me!"

"Do not listen to her Miss Dawn. Honestly, a head full of fluff that one."

It was too late. A plan was already formulating in Dawn's mind. Miss Martins was right: Dawn had to find her own way home, and now she had a way.

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The next morning she told her idea to James as they walked through the town with pockets full of silver to purchase Mrs. Sanderson some fresh baked apples. It had taken a lot of apologising for last night's activities before he was willing to listen to her, but when he did, he was not as positive as she hoped him to be.

"And how do you expect to find this pond, if it even exists. The riddle was not exactly specific."

"Jack Sparrow."

"The pirate," was the sceptical reply

"Yes, have you heard of any others?"

"No; I was just checking that you really have lost your mind."

Dawn sighed and linked her arm through his yanking it down so that she could speak a little more privately, "When I was on the ship some of the sailors knew of the pirate called Jack Sparrow and they said that he had this compass. The compass points to whatever you desire the most."

"So you wish to pilfer Jack Sparrow's compass?"

"Yes."

"And use it to find this pond."

"Yes."

"I was correct; you have lost your mind!"

"I have both my mind and my marbles thank you very much. You said you'd help me if I ever thought of a way to get home."

James gave her a disbelieving stare, "I thought that if you ever thought of a way home it would be bartering passage on a ship to another part of the island, not searching out notorious pirates for the sake of an imaginary pond!"

"Well you're right. I do wish to get passage to another part of the island. But I don't plan on bartering for passage; I plan on becoming part of the crew."

"They would never take a woman as part of the crew."

The grin that then spread across Dawn's face made James shiver. This could not go well.

* * *

Meanwhile many leagues away, a young boy by the name of Billie Turner was playing with his little sister on a white sandy beach not far from his home. 

"Cheater. Mother; Billie cheated and he will not put me down," cried the five year old Isabel Turner from where she had been flung over her brother's shoulder. They had been half way through a play sword fight when her elder brother, Billie, had saw fit to throw her over his shoulder and announce himself the winner.

Elizabeth Turner chuckled to herself and turned to the next page in her book, effortlessly ignoring her daughter's pleas. "Pirate's always cheat, sister! I am victorious, and you shall fill a shark's hungry stomach," cried Billie as he ran towards the lapping waves. Screaming, Isabel beat her tiny fists on his back and kicked her legs in a fury.

"If so much as one splash of water touches your sister's dress I shall be very much vexed William,"

Billie froze just as he was ankle deep in foaming sea water. "See: mother says you are to put me down!" cried Isabel. It took a moment for Billie to process his mother's words, and another moment to find a loop hole in them.

"WILLIAM TURNER!" screamed Elizabeth in a rage as Billie flipped Isabel upside down and dunked her head into the waves. Isabel began bawling; great crocodile tears streamed down her face. Chuckling in mirth Billie carried her by her ankles back to dry land, where he then flipped her, and placed her right ways up on the sand. The little girl scurried to their mothers embrace; arms held out wide. "William!" hissed Elizabeth through clenched teeth as she stroked the soaked hair of her daughter in a calming manner.

"Now mother, you clearly said that I was not to get my sister's frock wet. And I believe that I have complied with your wishes. It was her head- not her frock- that got a soaking," said Billie flippantly.

"Since when was I the mother of a smart-mouthed **pirate**?" asked Elizabeth throwing him a sharp look,

"Ever since you were elected Pirate King and married the captain of the Flying Dutchman, mother. Alas; it is in my blood," he said, and smirked. Elizabeth glared at her son; Isabel giggled. Elizabeth looked down at the giggling girl bewilderment, before sighing and saying with a groan,

"I do not know why I even bother." Isabel dove from her arms brandishing a new stick, and launched herself at her brother: obviously being dunked headfirst into the sea hadn't upset her too greatly.

The family stayed on the beach until morning was over. Billie would have loved to have stayed all day, but he was to go to the blacksmiths at noon and help make a set of gates for Mr. Puttmire. It had been his mother's idea; being a blacksmith's apprentice. Apparently it had been his father's trade before he had taken up piracy, or forced into it, as his mother claimed. When he was a child Billie had been rather boisterous, and so in an effort to keep him out of trouble she had applied to the local blacksmith: it was also decided that a young boy such as Billie- with only his late grandfather's status as governor to recommend him, and no fortune to speak of- should learn a trade as young as possible. After all, should anything happen to his mother he would be responsible for the well being of his sister.

Working in the shop was hard work. The heat from the furnace would make it almost unbearable to some, and at times even Billie had to leave the shop to get some air.

This day they had not much work left to do in forming the gates, and so Billie was free an hour before the normal time. Delighted Billie dashed from the shop down to the beach. His father had promised him a reply to his letter sometime this month and so he had been combing the beaches of the island restlessly in search of one. He only saw his father once every ten years. A harsh fate for any child, and although he loved the man dearly he sometimes wished that he did not have a father, for life would not hurt so much if it were true.

The shallows of the sea did not bring much luck. In fact Billie found nothing at all. Not even an unusually shaped lump of drift wood. A large group of rocks blocked one end of the beach from the other; Billie had scrambled half way up these rocks, ripping the knees of his breeches in the process, when he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat.

His fingers trembled on the uneven surface and he carefully manoeuvred his body around so that he could look down upon the stranger. And it was a stranger indeed. Dreadlocks in his hair; dirt on his face; beads in his beard; a tattered coat on his frame and a sword at his side. Billie had never seen anyone like it. Which was rather odd since he knew every body that lived upon this island, and no boats had come into dock.

"Who goes there?" Billie shouted down to the man,

"Never mind that," said the stranger shiftily waving a grubby hand, "You wouldn't happen to hold the knowledge as to the whereabouts of one William Turner, er, the third?"

"Aye, I know where he is. Who is asking, and what does he desire?"

"He desires to know the whereabouts of the third William Turner, without disclosing his name to every eunuch he meets. Now, do you happen to know this piece of information that I so kindly ask of you, or are you unable to disclose said information because you are indeed the soul that I am seeking,"

"I am," Billie said with a puzzled expression, "well, I think I am."

"Good!" the man clapped his hands together in delight and grinned up at Billie, "I have a letter for you!"

Billie's eyes widened in surprise and joy, and he jumped from the rock, down onto the sand with a thump. He landed right in front of the strange man and held his hand out in waiting. The man peered at the hand for a moment before taking it in his own and shaking it. "Captain Jack Sparrow; I would say it is a pleasure to meet you, but then I would be lying," –Billie snatched his hand back from his grasp- "well, that wasn't very gentlemanly, and here I was, risking my neck to bring you a letter from your dear old dad. How is he by the way?"

"Did it not say in the letter?" asked Billie scathingly,

"I wouldn't know,"- Jack puffed himself up importantly, "Haven't read it, see: that would be discourteous. And unlike some discourteous people, who shall remain nameless, I am a courteous man," he said waving his finger in the air,

"Then how did you know it was for me?" Billie asked and raised an eyebrow showing his disbelief. Jack paused and looked stumped for a moment before he shrugged his shoulders and grinned,

"Lucky guess?" he said,

Billie's jaw twitched and his hands balled up into fists at his sides, "just give me my letter!" he demanded,

Jack leant forwards and came nose to nose with Billie, "Now see," – Billie almost gagged as his hideous breath hit him, "I could give you your letter now. But then what would I get out of such an action? Hmm?"

He backed away and frowned at the pirate, "What do you want?" he asked once he deemed himself far enough away to not smell the answer,

"Your bonny mum, can she cook?"

Billie's jaw dropped in disbelief.

The house was not far from the beach, and so luckily for Billie he could lead the pirate to his house without having to speak to him. He wasn't an idiot, he knew who Jack Sparrow was, but he was not a man he ever thought he would meet. The shock of such a meeting had surely dampened his senses.

"Mother," he called out as he entered the hallway of his home,

"Bit pokey," said Jack coming up behind him, "you know, the old house was much better; bigger, grander. I don't think much of the furnishings; could do with getting rid of those … Elizabeth! Lovely to see you love, love what you've done with the place," he shoved the candlestick he had picked up off the side cupboard into her hands, "lovely candle-thingy, I'd have one myself if it would match the Pearl: Singapore?"

"France," she said placing the candlestick back down. Jack glared at the candlestick in disgust before turning back to Elizabeth with a grin, "Why are you here?" she asked un-amused,

"Is that a roast? What is it dressed with?" he had managed to manoeuvre himself through the hall and was peering through the dining room door at the half laid table.

"You can not be serious? You don't expect me to allow you to stay?" said she throwing her hands to her hips, "I am expecting company!"

Jack waltzed into the dining room, "The more the merrier!" he exclaimed. Billie rushed after him and grabbed his elbow forcefully,

"I may have promised you food, Sparrow, but I did not promise you a place to eat said food, nor what food you would be given," he hissed,

"Ahh, but since I hold your letter, the technicalities of our contract are not yet finalised, and so it is I who will be deciding where it is that I eat," said Jack waving a grubby finger in Billie's face. Billie batted the finger away in disgust and backed a few steps away from the pirate. His eyes then brightened and he grinned a cheeky smile as he replied,

"And so if I did have said letter then the technicalities of our contract would in fact be finished and you will eat what and where I decide, Sparrow?"

"But you don't have said letter and so said technicalities are not…Ahhh," A dirty brown bottle sat in Billie's palm and he waved it teasingly in front of Jack's face, "Light fingers," he said somewhat appraisingly before turning to Elizabeth and saying, "Your son's a bloody pirate,"

The glare his mother sent him had him trembling in his boots, but despite this he was pleased to note that the glare had a similar effect on Jack Sparrow.

"I shall cancel our dinner plans for this evening," she ground out, "and once dinner is over I want you gone!"

"All I ask is a ship… or boat, whichever you happen to have lying around."

Dinner was a humorous affair. Luckily Elizabeth managed to get the word out to her dinner guests that Isabel was feeling under the weather, and so she was forced to cancel. But unluckily Isabel was not feeling under the weather, and so was perched on Jack Sparrow's knee, plaguing him with questions about her father.

"Are you a friend of my Papa?" asked Isabel,

"More of an acquaintance," Jack squirmed as Isabel hopped up on his lap,

"Do you have a boat? My Papa has a boat."

"A ship: it is called a ship."

"Do you have a **ship**?"

"I have the fastest ship in all of the Caribbean,"

"Where is it then?"

"Now see, The Peal be… it…"

"I bet it is not faster than my Papa's"

"The Black Pearl can outrun anything, even the Flying Dutchman,"

"So? My papa's boat would still beat your stinky one!"

"Ship! It. Is. Called. A. Ship!"

"Isabel," Elizabeth cut in. The child twirled on Jack's knee to look at her mother, who was sending her a warning look. A pout appeared on her face and she turned to look up at Jack with large sparkling eyes,

"You like talking to me, do you not?" she asked,

Jack stuttered and snapped his head this way and that in search of an escape, "Now love," he said tapping her on the head, "it is not tha…" her bottom lip trembled and her eyes began to well with tears: Jack pulled a face as he looked down at the girl and sent a pleading look to Elizabeth; Elizabeth smiled and placed a hand over her mouth to disguise a chuckle. "Bugger," he cursed, "Now, Isabel, it is Isabel?" Isabel nodded, "good. Now I love talking with you, but see, your mother's getting jealous. She is in love with me; poor strumpet can't help herself, so why don't you run along while we have a good ol' chin wag, hmm?"

"I am not…" Elizabeth began indignantly, but Jack held a hand up to pause her before pointing to Isabel pointedly,

"Wouldn't want to upset the sprog, now would we, Elizabeth, love?"

Jack left the second he was fed. Well, Elizabeth kicked him out the second he was fed and sent him off in the direction of the docks. Billie watched him go from a secluded hiding place behind a pair of rocks. There were no real ships on their island, but there were a few boats that the local men used for fishing. It seemed as though it was one of these fishing vessels that Jack was going for.

What amazed Billie more than watching someone steal a boat, was that nobody seemed to stop him. Living on such a small island together had the village trusting all locals impeccably. The fact that Jack was not a local and was in fact a pirate had escaped them, because they, like Billie, had not seen him arrive and so assumed that he lived there, or was a friend of someone.

It was only once the silhouette of the boat reached the horizon that the village folk realised he was not coming back. That was when the mayhem set in. People were running back and fourth screaming about thieves; men were standing in angry groups muttering between one another; children were running up and down the shore trying to catch a glimpse of the ship. It seemed like half the village were out on the docks in a panic. To some it was only a boat, but to Mr Frundle, it was his livelihood. Never before had a theft happened on their small island, and never would it happen again.

Billie snuck back to the house where his mother was cursing Jack to high heavens. It was odd to see his mother so angry, especially about Jack Sparrow; in all the stories she had ever told them, Jack Sparrow had been a friend of both herself and her husband. He crouched low in the gap beneath the staircase and wrapped his arms around his legs for comfort. If anyone in town found out that Jack Sparrow was their guest… Guilt swelled in his breast.

"Billie: it is not your fault, do not look so worried," whispered Elizabeth. She had left the dining room to see her son curled up beneath the stairs; his young face creased with worry and guilt. She knelt down besides him and pulled the teenager into her arms, "Jack Sparrow would have found this house whether you brought him here or not. I was just hoping that those days of trouble were over… I have you and Isabel now… I do not need his problems." She placed a finger below his chin and lifted his face up to look at hers, "what did your letter say; how is your father?"

Billie gasped. In all the excitement he had forgotten to read his father's letter. "I have not read it yet," he said in amazement. Elizabeth laughed and hugged him closer,

"Then what are you doing wallowing in misery beneath the stairs when there is a letter to be read?"

Billie grinned and hugged his mum tighter for a second before running upstairs to the sanctuary of his room.

He collapsed onto his mattress and whipped the bottle out of his coat. His eyes glinted and he stared at the bottle in wonderment for moment, basking in the knowledge that inside that bottle was something from his father. Something his father had written with his own hand. Something to him.

He took the bottle gently and placed it firmly between his knees, then grabbed the cork and pulled with all his might. The cork came out with a pop and he flew back onto his bed. The bottle rolled across the bed and came to rest at the end, and so Billie dove up again and dove for the prize.

He peered into the neck and grinned when he saw the rolled yellow parchment inside. The neck of the bottle was slim, and so he had to use his forefinger and thumb to gently ease the letter out. It came out little by little, and as soon as there was enough to grab hold of he whipped the entire roll out in one clean sweep.

He gazed down at the letter in his hands and ran a finger over the broken seal; his eyes clouded over and he cursed Jack Sparrow. But he was too excited to dwell on that, he still had a letter to read. He held one side in shaking hands and rolled out the parchment to reveal… a map? He blinked. That wasn't right. He peered closer at the paper as though if he looked hard enough the words would appear. Nothing. Just a map. With an X in the centre… Billie smirked, maybe he was to find what was on the map; maybe Jack Sparrow wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

_A/N. Do you like Jack? It's the first time I've ever written his character and I've spent most of my time looking for his quotes to try and copy his way of speaking… it's not perfect, but I didn't want to go with the overly used reworked movie lines. __Billie Turner is not exactly an original character… at the end of "At Worlds End" we see Elizabeth with a boy who we assume to be hers and Will's son. I named him Billie to go with tradition. He won't be the usual son of Will though…well, I don't think he will be... he won't make another appearance for another couple of chapters. _

_I may have been misleading in my last author notes; it was completely unintentional. This is NOT a Dawn Summers/Jack Sparrow pairing. Dawn is 14 in this story, Jack is in his mid thirty's. (I have him at this age because it makes it a little easier to write the sequel. It would make him around 26-27 in the films. Which doesn't make that much sense… he's just old, I'll sort out an age when I get to it.) There will be no pairings in this story, only a hint of possible future pairings for the sequel. _

_Yay me! I finally finished writing chapter 13 which was proving to be a pain in the butt. So I have just about five or six more chapters to write and the fic will be finished… in fact it may even be less than that… Then I can start planning the sequel! _


	5. Sailing With Strangers

**A/N **I'm not sure if anyone is still reading this, since I received no reviews for the last chapter. I did change the title of the story to Of Thieves and Vagabonds, and moved the story category, so it may be my fault. The story has been returned to the Buffy the Vampire Slayer Crossover section, and there it shall remain. Sorry for any confusion.

**Edit: Thankyou to my Beta, Cylon One, for once again spotting all my stupid mistakes. I hope that with her help you will find this chapter more readable! **

**Chapter Five****: Sailing with Strangers. **

"_Traveling is not just seeing the new; it is also leaving behind. Not just opening doors; also closing them behind you, never to return. But the place you have left forever is always there for you to see whenever you shut your eyes."_ Jan Myrdal 

Dawn turned this way and that in the looking glass upon the wall of James's room. His protests about how she shouldn't be in here had fallen on deaf ears.

"What do you think?" she asked,

"I preferred it long."

She turned to glare at the sulking boy and grabbed a dark green sash from off of the floor and tied it around her head. "It would be too much hassle long," she snapped.

The once long brown locks had been chopped off so that her hair now hung- a little unevenly- to just below her shoulders.

"Matches your mucus," came his next droll comment, but rather than make her mad as he hoped it would; it caused her to giggle.

"I know… that's why I bought it…. James please, stop being mad at me."

Something unintelligible was muttered from his moody lips as he flung a large white shirt at her along with a pair of simple black breeches,

"James!" Dawn snapped as the garments smacked her in the face,

"I out grew them. They might fit you," were his last words before he stormed out of the room to let her dress.

Tears sprang up in her eyes at his cold manners but she held them back as best she could. It wasn't like she could blame him. Who wouldn't be a little bit angry to find out that their friend was planning on leaving them forever?

Surprisingly the clothes fit her well and were baggy enough that should she –by some miracle- grow some curves they would be well hidden. Her boots were by far her favourite item: a black, knee high leather pair that were so comfortable she did not want to take them off. Said boots had cost her two weeks wages, but the practicality of them made them worth it.

She left the room shortly after she was ready. There wasn't really any point in waiting around, unless she wished to get caught. James was no where to be found, and so she soon found herself walking towards the docks utterly alone.

With a heavy heart she plodded along holding in the tears that threatened to fall. It wasn't fair. Everywhere she went, every time she made a friend she had to leave them: or was forced to leave them. Back in Sunnydale it had been the same; she had never been able to get close to someone without them having to leave. Maybe she was cursed to be alone forever. If it wasn't for Buffy, Dawn knew that she would still be working in the kitchen with James. James wouldn't be angry at her either, and Mr. Davis wouldn't think that she had abandoned them.

She took a place at the end of the jetty and sat down upon the wood letting her feet swing over the edge. It would take a while to find a suitable ship; she already knew that. But she couldn't go back to the Sanderson's house as she was. People might become suspect.

"Your ship leaves at dusk Miss Summers. It is called The Lady May."

His voice caused her to stiffen. It was so unfeeling, so distant and formal. The tears in her eyes would hold back no longer and began streaming down her cheeks. She didn't turn around. How could she? How could she let him see how badly his attitude was affecting her? She deserved it.

"Are you even going to look at me?" he hissed, "or is that it? Am I forgotten now?"

Anger and venom seeped from him words. His face was screwed up in undeniable hate. She leapt to her feet and swung around. The anger had been transferred to her, and this was it; she was sick of it.

"No! You are not forgotten! Do you think I want this? That I want to leave you and Mr. Davis and Miss Martins and even Miss Burkley? Do you think I want to go and spend God knows how much time on a stinky ship in the middle of the ocean with a bunch of rabid men? Do you think that I asked for this? Do you honestly think that this is what I want? Well it isn't! I don't want it. I want to stay here, with you! But I can't! I have a family, true it's a small one but it's a family all the same and while there is breath in my lungs I will find them! I can't leave Buffy to fight in this world alone. God… she's lost so much, how can I make her lose me too?"

"But I can afford to lose you? My father who has given you his love, his care his everything can lose you! Your sister has not even bothered to come and look for you! We love you Dawn! We are your family! Stay… please…"

"I can't. You know I can't!" tears fell unchecked from his eyes and her heart softened. The anger left her as quickly as it had come, "please don't" she whispered reaching out to brush her hand against his wet cheek, "I'll try to come back when I've found her. She might even want to come with me, but I can't make any promises. I wish I could, but it's so complicated. I love you though. You know, I'm getting pretty sick of goodbyes. Why is it that love always hurts the most?"

"I'm sorry," he whispered, bringing a hand up to cup her cheek, "I have no wish to hurt you. It just vexed me so much that I might never see you again. Never hear you laugh; never hear you cry… the kitchen is going to seem so quiet without you. A lot more plates will make it from the sink to the shelves, but… Damn it Dawn, I can not stand thinking that this may be the last time I shall ever get to speak with you. When you make port, write to me. Can you promise me that? A letter from my best friend is not too much to ask, is it?"

"I'll write you every time we make port. Good long letters too, about how smelly everyone is and how much I miss Mr. Davis's cooking."

A small hiccup of a laugh left him and he pulled her in for a hug, "Come on. We have the rest of the day left. Let us go shopping and you can show me how good you are at being a boy."

"Better than you. I expect… I always thought you'd have made a rather fine girl," she quipped before running ahead and out of reach.

It was a pleasant day, filled with much laughter and more tears and would remain to be one that Dawn would never forget.

The ship did indeed leave at dusk and so it was much sooner than she liked that she found herself aboard said vessel setting sail across the still blue ocean. Compared to the Lady Petunia, the Lady May was more of a boat than a ship. It was a small fishing vessel with a crew of five gnarly men of various ages.

She was introduced to the men as soon as her feet touched the wood of the deck. The captain- a hairy, stout, elderly man- took her roughly by the shoulders, almost chocking her with his stench of stale sweat and rotten fish.

"This young lad be Mr. Walter Gobberd. He'll be joinin the crew ta learn the ropes so to speak. Gobberd this be Tedcastle,"-a short man around Dawn's height waved a hooked hand in her direction. She winced at the sight of it, and at the grubby patch that covered his eye.- "Lost 'is hand to a sea turtle he did, bit it clean off!" said the captain as he watched her gaze,

"What happened to his eye?" Dawn asked before she could stop the words.

"A gots me a fly in it love." said Tedcastle grinning a smile of rotten teeth. Dawn frowned in confusion and was about to ask more when he winked and lifted up his hooked hand again, "Twas the first day wi me hook."

The crew burst into raucous laughter as Dawn flushed crimson with embarrassment. "Ah, not to worry Gobberd, just havin a laugh with yer."

Tedcastle pulled the eye patch from his eye and grinned cheekily, "What about the hook?" Dawn asked seeing that he hadn't moved to take that off,

"Never trust sea turtles Mr. Gobberd," was his reply.

"And that there is Hawkins; he don't like to talk if he can help it," the captain carried on, "Best to just ignore him. Over there be Roland," a tall gangly man with an afro of curly black hair nodded with a smile, "and last be old Hornebolt, 'e likes t tell tall tales does 'e. Good fisherman tho, can tell a good catch a mile away!"

Dawn nodded politely to them all and she was soon taken by the arm by Hornbolt who pulled her around to face the captain, "You be mad captain! What be ye thinking bringing a sprog on board?"

"I be thinkin he be a decent sailor wi a little training Hornbolt. Now get to work! Tedcastle; show the sprog about the ship and set 'im to work."

"Aye Captain," Tedcastle said and saluted with his hooked hand.

Dawn soon found herself being led around the ship by the grimy and somewhat insane fisherman. He mostly babbled on about this and that, and Dawn mostly tried to listen as she fought past the stench of his breath.

"Ye be sleepin ere Gobbard."

Dawn glanced around her sleeping quarters and held back a whimper. Her bed was a small hammock positioned above two others, "Figured you'd be best on top lad; less weight see."

The hammocks were encrusted with filth and she was sure she saw flees jumping in the threading. "There be a blanket on each one in case it gets too cold for ye. But don't be worrying boyo, it tends to get more groggy than chilly down in these parts." Dawn nodded her head and tried a smile but it came out more of a grimace.

"Now lad; can ye sow?" a reluctant nod from Dawn followed this, "good. There be some nets that need a fixin and ye be less trouble down ere doin that than up there causin trouble. Once we be out on open waters we'll set to teachin ye about the ship."

& & & & & &

Boring: utterly mind numbingly boring. Why did she learn how to sow? It was at times like these that she hated Mr. Davis. If it wasn't for him she would have never learned how to sow and wouldn't be sat upon a damp floor fixing nets.

A large grey rat ran across the dark wooden floor and disappeared behind some rags. She watched its movement in detached interest and continued with her sowing. The hammocks swung back and forth slowly with the rocking of the ship and she sighed heavily. The door creaked open and a gnarled head looked in. Dawn paused in her sowing and looked up to see Tedcastle scratching his long black beard as he surveyed her curiously.

"Ye be a pathetic sow'er," he said eyeing the nets, "but what does ye expect from a landlubber'in sprog like ye. We be having some grub down in the cabin with the Captain."

Dawn had never sprung up so quickly in her life. The nets tumbled to the ground as she scampered over to Tedcastle and to the door. "I hate sewing," was her reply to his bemused expression.

Living on a fishing vessel wasn't as bad as Dawn first suspected it might be. Despite the lack of hygiene and the horrible sleeping arrangements; she found that she rather enjoyed it. Even the nits that she had acquired and the itchy bites that appeared randomly soon seemed perfectly normal.

She was a little disappointed to hear that they would not be returning to Port Royal for another three months. Apparently they only stopped off there at each quarter year: the captain had a bastard son that he liked to check up on. The crew were aware of the existence of this son, and of the basic location, but as to the identity; they hadn't a clue. It was for the sake of the boy's pretence of a lowly orphan boy that they did not visit that port too often.

The vessel had sailed to Morant Cays. It was a small group of four islands surrounded by coral in which the captain said was very good for their fishing in. Once they had then caught the catch they would take it to shore where Dawn and Hornbolt would gut, salt and dry the fish. It was messy work and a job that Dawn wished never to be repeated again. She stunk of fish. Her only comfort was that the smell of fish disguised the hideous and vile body odour lack of washing had caused her to gain. It had taken a week to get there, and they had been working there for nigh' on three, when Dawn was woken up before there were even signs of a sunrise.

"Wake up ye no good landlubberin sprog!" Dawn groaned as she was shaken awake by course hands. It was Hornbolt. Just who she needed to see in the morning. His grizzly face peered over her before chucking a cup of sea water over her face. "I said be gerrin up!"

Dawn sat up and scratched her knotted hair. The green bandana stayed on her head even in sleep as she learned that getting ready was not on the priority list of sailors, and so she was expected to wake up dressed and ready. Her hand paused on it as she itched a rather vicious spot just above her left ear. She smiled. The mere presence of it reminded her of James and of what he would have said to her if he'd have seen her now. Dirty, stinky and infested with bugs.

She jumped from the hammock and landed with a thud besides Hornbolt who shoved her in the direction of the door. "We be taking the catch to Port de Paix. Tis a good port, close enough to Tortuga to get the riches of pirates but without the pirates themselves."

"Pirates!" she exclaimed as she came out into the fresh air, "In Tortuga you say?" Hornbolt nodded uninterested in the conversation as he pulled on a piece of rigging as though testing its strength.

"Climb up that rope lad. The captain says he sees a storm on the horizon and I feels it in me skin. I want ye to be seeing what the thing that's gonna kill ye be lookin like."

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment before the voice of Tedcastle joined in the conversation, "There be a storm brewing to be sure Hornbolt, but the Lady May u'll ride her out. Don't be worrin boyo; have some rum to calm ye nerves."

But Dawn was already half way up the rigging having pulled herself up the rope until she was high enough to get a good view. Not a star was in sight and the deep blue of the sky got darker and angrier as it came closer to the horizon. The black clouds looked menacingly down and a chill of fear crept up her spine. It didn't look all too friendly, and from the fear of her fellow sailors she realised that the storm was heading their way.

Letting go of the rigging she let herself drop down onto the deck and landed with a thud besides Tedcastle. The look on her face said everything and a grubby cup was shoved into her hands. Without thinking she took a sip of the liquid.

It was foul. The burning sensation slid down her throat and caused her stomach to turn in an attempt to expel it from its depths. Her mouth twisted in a grimace as she tried to spit all remaining drops of the liquid from out of her mouth. The burning caught in her throat and the spitting sent her into a fit of coughing and chocking.

Raucous laughter drowned her out and a strong hand began slamming against her back, "Never had rum before ay boy?"

Dawn looked up with watery eyes to see the Captain smiling down at her, "I have had it, but it has never been that strong before," she rasped still clutching at her throat,

"You been given grog before lad. That was but rum!"

Dawn nodded and tried not to glare too much at Hornbolt and Tedcastle who were holding onto one another in peals of laughter,

"Twud be a pity if the sprog was killed would it not Tedcastle? Amusing as the lad is!"

Tedcastle's agreement was with another burst of laughter. Dawn humphed.

"Ah, don't be angry with them Gobbard. They just be having fun. Now this ere storm that be approaching… their warning aren't to be taken lightly. I need ye to secure all that moves before getting yourself down below decks. Ye nearly be a sailor, but ye be a young sailor and too young to be seeing Davy Jones."

The warning was a sound one and for once she didn't get angry at the obvious slight on her age. She recalled all the times Buffy had told her she was too young and how much she had protested and argued. But now that it was real, now that she could see the danger approaching: she understood. Although she wished she could be up on deck helping the crew, she knew that with her limited knowledge she would only be in the way and would succeed in not only endangering her own life, but the lives of the crew as well. It was with great enthusiasm that she then did the only thing she knew she could do competently, and that was to follow her captain's orders.

"Will that hold?" Dawn asked the first passing crew member she saw. Hawkins leant down and surveyed the knot for a moment before nodding and continuing on. That was the way he was, she was used to it now and on occasion found that his silent company was at times better than the other sailors more rowdy type. The rest of the ship was quick enough to secure as the rest of the crew had had much practise in these situations.

"Below deck Gobbard!" as the wind began to pick up a voice shouted from somewhere above. Dawn supposed it was Rowland as the voice had a slightly more Jamaican than sailor accent. Not seconds after he said it did she hear the order repeated yet again, this time by Tedcastle. She complied immediately and took refuge on Hornbolt's hammock.

The night was a rough one. Dawn hardly slept due to howling winds, lashing rain and the shouts from above. The hammock swung widely as the ship was tossed around in the water, and more than once Dawn found herself thrown to the ground.

Eventually she curled up in the far corner and pulled some old rags over her frame. "Hey Turnip, mind if I share your bed?" she whispered to the grey rat that lived in the blanket's folds. Sleeping with rats was better than nothing. Plus; she hadn't the heart to shoo it away.

Sleep came in short bursts, but she was usually awoken by a crash of thunder or a particularly loud shout from up above. She shivered as the sounds of crashing thunder, cracking lightning and howling winds brought back the memories of jumping into the portal. A squeak at her elbow was her only reminder that she wasn't alone.

"_Oh for me grog my jolly jolly grog  
Oh for me beer and tobacco  
Well I spent all my tin in a shanty drinking gin  
Now across the Western Plain I must wander" _

She sang the song softly recalling the times that she and the crew had sang it while pulling in the nets, or after they'd had a fine dinner and were celebrating the day's catch. The sound helped drive away all unpleasantries and left her thinking of the bright sun that the days' singing those songs brought,

"_I'm stiff stoney broke and I've parted with me moke  
And the sky is looking black as flaming thunder  
And the shanty boss is too for I haven't got a sou  
That's the way you're treated when you're down and under"_

The ship seemed to be moving less and Dawn smiled a little as she continued to sing her song. Turnip the rat seemed to have ran away for shelter but Dawn didn't blame him. She knew she couldn't hold a tune to save her life.

"_Oh for me grog my jolly jolly grog  
Oh for me beer and tobacco  
Well I spent all my tin in a shanty drinking gin  
Now across the Western Plain I must wander"_

The wind lessened and Dawn could make out more of what the crew were shouting. Something was overboard. It fell. Another rumble of thunder shook the ship and she could make out no more of what was being said. She sang a little louder and clutched her blanket to her chest. Trepidation was setting in. Something bad had happened.

"_Well I'm crook in the head for I haven't been to bed  
Since first I touched this shanty with my plunder  
I see centipedes and snakes, and I'm full of pains and aches  
So I'd better make a push out over yonder" _

The door to the cabin burst open and Hornbolt came staggering in soaking wet looking feral. "Gobbard! What in the blazes are ye doin o'er there?"

"I kept falling from the hammock," Dawn said sheepishly at his incredulous look.

"Ahh, well. Ne'er mind that. Trouble up top. The captain fell o'er board during the storm last night. We fear he be drowned. As first mate Tedcastle be takin' o'er as captain. Ye alright lad?"

Tears sprang up in Dawn's eyes at the news. He was dead? And just like that they had appointed a new captain. Was there no remorse; no mourning his death?

"Don't be blubberin now sprog. Ye be a bigger lad than tha. Life has to go on, Port de Paix be callin our names and we have a horde of fish to be deliverin."

She nodded and stood up wearily being careful to wipe any trace of tears from her face. He was right. She couldn't sit there and dwell on the death of one man. The sea was a dangerous place to be and people were going to get hurt and killed. She clenched her jaw and walked unsteadily to where Hornbolt was waiting.

"Tha's the spirit!"

The ship was a mess and Dawn spent the entire day cleaning seaweed from every inch of the ship. Some of their fish had been lost, but only about a tenth of the catch and so they counted themselves lucky. The absence of the captain was felt not only by the increase in work load but in his mere lack of presence. She missed him terribly and made a mental note to add him to the list of people she would never see again.

They found the captain at around seven o'clock the next evening floating face down in the water. Rowland and Hawkins pulled him out as Tedcastle prepared a small raft to lay him upon. The raft was then sent out to sea with the burning body of their captain upon it. Dawn watched it go as Tedcastle recited something in Latin. If she wasn't so upset she would have been amazed at the discovery of him knowing the language. He was, after all, an uneducated fisherman.

* * *

A/N This is not my favourite chapter. I'd love to edit it more and change it around, but I have no time. I've had to resort to buying a diary to manage what little time I do have more efficiently. Don't worry, this will not effect the updates since as I have already said; the majority of this story is already written. 

I did not write the song, and stole it from a pirate site… I like pirate songs. I apologise if you are not a person who likes songs in stories, I hate them also, but I occasionally do things I dislike for no apparent reason. I think it is, however, interesting to have an old sailor's song in the story.

Next chapter Dawn will meet the infamous Billie Turner! This is one of my favourite chapters, and so I hope you guys enjoy it!

Now, last chapter I thought I would be mature; I did not beg for reviews at all. And I didn't get any. pouts

Therefore… PLEASE leave me a review! Pretty please? It sucks to hear nothing back… I get all sad. I hate that so few people are reading this as it is, so could at least one of you review? Please.


	6. Friend or Foe?

_A.N. Sorry for the late update! I've been SO busy. But here it is! Thank you to my reviewers! I am so happy that you have not abandoned me! Thank you SO much!_

A big thanks to Cylon One for Betaing this chapter! You are a gem as usual! Thanks!

**Chapter Six; Friend or Foe? **

"_Flying off the handle sometimes causes hammers and humans to lose their heads, as well as their effectiveness." _William Arthur Ward

The days following the captain's funeral dragged; each second took a minute to pass, and each minute, an hour. Tedcastle was an excellent first mate, but he was a pathetic captain. Nothing was organized: half the jobs were being done twice, and others were not done at all, the ship was continuously drifting off course because Tedcastle did not take the time to check co-ordinates, and dinner times were just set capriciously throughout the day; the crew might go eight hours without a bite, and then get two dinners in the space of an hour. If it wasn't for Hornbolt they would have been half starved and utterly lost by the end of the week, but as it were; they were just a little grumpy and much irritable.

According to Hornbolt they were a week's journey to their destination; Port de Paxi. Dawn had been plaguing Hornbolt with questions about pirates the entire day, much to Hornbolt's annoyance. They were sat in the captain's office, where it was cool, and a welcome break from the stifling heat up on deck.

"Tis an odd obsession you got there sprog, and a dangerous one at tha'" Hornbolt said, leaning over the gnarled table to peer at her dirt swathed face; he wrinkled his nose and narrowed his beady black eyes.

"It is not an obsession, just a mere curiosity," answered Dawn wearily, "I've never met a pirate."

"I can tell" Hornbolt gave an amused smirk and leant back on his chair in a satisfied manner.

"How?"

"Ye be breathin'."

Dawn gulped at the serious tone and bit her lip before asking her next question, a little tremor was now laced through her voice, "I heard that Jack Sparrow goes in those parts,"

"Ahh, Jack Sparrow. He be a curious pirate to be sure. No one quite knows what happened to 'im. You might hear word of 'im in Tortuga but I wouldn't go askin mind." Hornbolt peered closely at Dawn and whispered, "in bout half a day we'll be sailing by the island where the king of pirates is said to live. Lover of both old Jack Sparrow and Davy Jones himself: a vicious cold hearted woman that burns even the sweetest of rum, so tis told."

Dawn's eyes widened at this and her mouth began to move before she could stop it, "I've heard about that! When I got here some sailors were telling me of Jack Sparrow and they mentioned the Pirate King, but they couldn't decide on a story."

"Aye, that'd be about right. As I said, no one rightly knows what happened to Jack Sparrow. But I can promise you lad that that island o'er yonder is the home of the Pirate King."

This was it. Dawn's heart jumped in utter joy as the answer lay before her. Surely the pirate king would know where Jack Sparrow was! Her heart ached with the idea of the island; it was like a lone star in an otherwise black sky.

She spent the rest of her time in the little cabin planning her journey. All the pieces were fitting together, and with the maps that she and Hornbolt were looking over she was able to pinpoint the exact location of her goal. The main problem was her lack of transportation, but after a moment of indecision she decided that swimming was her only hope of leaving un-noticed. It was a daunting idea, but Dawn was a stubborn child.

The opportune moment arose during dinner when the crew were drinking heartily and singing:

"_Don't you call us Common sailors anymore  
Good things to you we bring  
Don't you call us common men  
We're as good as anybody that's on shore"_

Their voices left a lot to be desired and so it wasn't seen as unusual that Dawn would leave the cabin to go up on deck where the air was sweeter and less noisy.

She headed for the sleeping quarters and rifled through her crewmate's things. The guilt that would have normally filled her being was not there. Weapons would be crucial for her survival if she were to be entering pirate waters alone, and so she had no qualms in borrowing some.

A pair of old pistols that Rowland had not used for ages were the result of her search and she filled them with gun powder before putting one in each boot. She found it pretty sad that this was all it had taken for her to get ready to leave. It took less preparation each time apparently.

Her eyes swept over the cabin for the last time. She would not miss sleeping here, but she would certainly miss those she slept with. Wrapping her arms around her frame she allowed her smile to drop, and felt an intense feeling of loneliness wash over her. With one last glance around the room she scurried up the steps and onto the deck.

Sneaking up on deck was a little more frightening; now she had actually done something wrong she did not want to get caught. Of course the worse they would likely do would be chuck her over board, and that was what she wanted anyway; she supposed they could give her the cat o' nine tails, but she hadn't seen one aboard the ship and so presumed they did not have one.

Her heart beat in her chest and her hands were clammy. The sounds of her friends washed out from the open door, and their voices danced through the night air. Would they be singing tomorrow? For tomorrow they would realize that she was missing. Would they think her dead? Or would they think that she abandoned them? She prayed it would be the first.

She climbed over board and used a rope to lower herself silently into the lapping waves. Luckily it was a calm day and so she was not knocked too badly against the side of the ship; the water was cold and she shivered as her body was submerged. She bobbed around for a moment trying to get her body accustomed to the temperature, and then she began to swim towards the island, looking back occasionally to check that no one had noticed her leaving.

A tinge of regret washed over her as she thought of the friends she was leaving this time, and without an explanation. It wasn't fair. She had even forgotten to say goodbye to Turnip the rat.

Half an hour later and the land seemed no closer. Her arms ached with the exertion. She stopped swimming to peer once more at her goal and frowned at its distance. Was it just her or was she going backwards? She treaded water to try and gain back some strength in her arms before setting out once again.

Another half hour of swimming passed and her arms were giving in. She had never been a strong swimmer. Allowing herself to float, she peered around and began to feel a sort of hopelessness setting in. True, she was a little closer, but there was still so far to go, and she was so tired.

A large wave knocked her forwards sending her diving into the depths. She came up spluttering and spitting out sea water. "This was not one of my better ideas." Dawn whined as wiped her mouth whilst battling to stay afloat.

It was her third time treading water that another large wave caught her by surprise. She screamed taking in a mouthful of salt water and choked as she was yanked below the waves. The current was rather strong here and she was being pulled so strongly back out to sea that all her kicking was doing was making her decent a little slower. Her lungs began to burn with the strain as the lack of oxygen became an issue, and panic set in. Her eyes widened as she reached her arms up in her struggles to try and break the surface.

A hand. Dawn blinked. It was: it was a hand, and an arm. The hand grabbed her around the scruff of her neck and heaved her up into the fresh breathable air. She spluttered and choked as she tried to breathe in great gulps, before looking around with teary eyes due to the coughing to find her savior.

"I always assumed that if I ever met a pirate, said pirate would be able to swim."

Dawn's eyes fixed on a boy of her own age bobbing around in the water. Like her he had a bandana over his hair, only his was black and seemed to be a higher quality.

"I can swim!" were the only words Dawn could think to say.

"A truly spectacular swimmer you are too. You shall have to teach me the drowning stroke sometime. Inspired as it was."

Dawn glared. She didn't like this boy. He had a nasty little smirk on his handsome face and had a sort of self conceited air about him; she decided to ignore him, and so turned abruptly to swim back to shore: partly to avoid answering him, and partly to prove that she could indeed swim.

Due to her stubborn nature she arrived at shore sooner than she would have if left to her own devices and found herself pulling her sopping wet self out of the surf and up onto the warm golden sand. She was vexed to see that the boy was already there, sat down and waiting. The boy jumped up as soon as he saw her and straightened his small black waistcoat mockingly,

"Billie Turner. A pleasure to make your acquaintance" he announced, bowing a little and allowing a cheeky grin to take over his features.

"Dawn Summers. And I'm afraid I can't honestly repay the compliment."

Billie's smirk widened at the reply, "save a guy's life and this is the thanks you get," he shook his head sadly, "makes a lad wonder why he bothers."

Dawn glared.

"And what kind of name is Dawn for a pirate anyway? A bit girly if you ask me."

A blush spread up her cheeks as her slip up became apparent. Billie on the other hand noticed the blush immediately and took a couple steps forward to examine Dawn. Dawn was pleased to note that she stood a tiny bit taller than him.

"Well I'll be damned. You're a girl!" exclaimed he after a moment of silence,

"I am not!" argued Dawn as she shook her head vigorously and threw her hands to her hips.

"Are too!" said Billie and began to laugh at the affronted look Dawn sent him before replying angrily,

"Are not!"

"Are too!"

"Are NOT!"

"Are too!"

"Are not times infinity!"

"You are too and you know it! You even talk like a girl!"

"I do not!"

"You do too!"

They stood nose to nose glaring fiercely into one another's eyes. Dawn had never hated someone so much as she did at that moment. He could have told her that the sky was blue and she'd have said it was purple if it meant not having to agree with him.

"I. DO. NOT!" she shouted stamping her foot and throwing her arm out in emphasis of each word. Laughter began to bubble from Billie's mouth and before Dawn knew what she was doing she was throwing a fist straight at his face.

"ARGH!"

Billie went flying back at the impact and landed with a bump on the sand. His hand came up to cover his smarting eye and he used the other to glare fiercely at Dawn. "You filthy little hell-cat! If you weren't a wench I would slit your ugly little throat!"

"I. Am. Not. A. Girl!" she shouted again.

"WILLIAM TURNER!"

The bellow rang out across the beach. Dawn swung around in search of the voice, and Billie paled considerably. A woman was striding up the beach in a rage, kicking sand up in her wake.

"How _dare_ you use such language? And in front of a lady none the less! If your father knew his only son had a mouth like that!"

"I'm not a girl," said Dawn once again feebly.

"That little hell-cat hit me!" Billie protested as he jumped to his feet, "I saved her life and she hit me." He pointed to his bruising eye. A blush spread across Dawn's face and she bowed her head in shame. Then he turned to her, "And, You. Are. A. GIRL!"

"Now Billie, if Mr…?"

"Gobbard," blurted Dawn trying to not make the same mistake twice before cringing as her second mistake suddenly hit her. Billie's eyebrows rose and a wide smirk spread across his face.

"Thank you. If Mr. Gobbard says he is a boy then he is indeed a boy. I apologize young sir, for my son. He is but a little boisterous. Would you care to join us for dinner? Our maid is just now about to serve it and there is plenty enough for four."

Billie's face had turned pale again: it was clear that he wanted Dawn anywhere that wasn't his home.

"It would be my pleasure," said Dawn with a smirk.

Billie's mother beamed at the acceptance and turned to lead the way across the beach to her house, "I'm Mrs. Turner; Billie's mother. So, what is your business upon our little island?"

"I'm looking for you," said Dawn.

Elizabeth Turner froze. This sopping wet young ruffian was here- on this tiny spit of land- to look for her.

"Why are you looking for my mother?" Billie asked and Dawn noted that he suddenly looked a lot more terrifying than he had done a few moments ago. She shrank back before turning to Elizabeth and took a deep breath,

"Well… I think it's you I'm looking for. You are the lover of Jack Sparrow are you not?"

Elizabeth blinked: of all the things she had expected, that was not it. "I am not."

"The lover of Davy Jones?" Dawn tried again.

"The only lover of my mother is my father: is that understood _Gobbard?_" Billie cut through, sneering as he said her fake name.

"My son is right. I love, and always shall love Mr. William Turner: my husband."

Dawn sighed heavily and looked up with a defeated expression at the mystified woman,

"Oh. So you're not Elizabeth Turner the legendary Pirate king?" A slow sort of half smile seeped across Elizabeth's face and she leant down so that she was at eye level with Dawn.

"Ahh Mr Gobbard, now **that **I am," whispered she, "come now; I believe that this is the kind of conversation for behind closed doors."

Dawn nodded and not another word passed her mouth all the way back to the Turners' residence. A few pulled faces and rude hand gestures on the other hand were frequently exchanged between Dawn and Billie behind Elizabeth's back.

As soon as they arrived at the house Billie was sent upstairs to retrieve some dry things for Dawn and to get changed himself. "Here" said Billie as he threw a pair of breeches and a white shirt at her.

"Thank you," said Dawn through gritted teeth as she yanked the clothes off of her head. With a cool smirk Billie then leant back on the door frame and crossed his hands over his chest as she watched her. Dawn squirmed at the attention and it wasn't long before she snapped at him to leave while she dressed. Another satisfied grin crossed Billie's face as he left the room.

"I hate him. I hate him. I hate him." Dawn ranted as she wrenched off her wet clothes and replaced them with dry ones. Her hair was still wet and she fingered the mangled strands with a wince before re-tying her bandana over it.

A knock at the door signified Elizabeth entering. "Are you ready for dinner?" she asked.

"Yes. Thank you. It was most kind of you to invite me back here," she looked down at the pile of clothes in her arms before looking back up, "Is there anywhere I can put…?"

"Pass them here and I shall have them cleaned for you."

Dawn beamed and practically thrust her dirt encrusted things at Elizabeth. Finally to have her things clean! All she needed now was a bath. If she could just play her cards right with Elizabeth she had a feeling that a bath wouldn't be long off.

Once dinner was served Elizabeth waited no time in demanding explanations off of Dawn. The first of course was to ask Dawn what she wanted with the pirate king.

"It is all rather complicated." Dawn began, "I was born as a bastard to my mother who worked as a cleaner. My mother and I lived in Tortuga up until a few months ago when she became terribly ill. On her death bed she told me my father's name and since that day I have been searching for him." A couple tears slid down Dawn's cheeks as they always did when she mentioned her mother. It was so hard lying about what was practically truth, and painful truth at that.

"I'm sorry for your loss. But how does that bring you to me?"

"I asked many sailors for news of my father but most of the news they gave me contradicted one another. I was told that you, Mrs. Turner, had had dealings with my father, and so I came in search of you."

"And your father is?" asked Elizabeth curiously as she leaned over the table in anticipation,

"Jack Sparrow," said Dawn.

It took all of Elizabeth's formal upbringing and training to stop her from spitting the contents of her mouth out in shock. "Jack Sparrow? Captain Jack Sparrow is _your_ father?!"

Dawn nodded.

"Well… that was certainly unexpected."

Even Billie seemed shocked. Well Dawn supposed he was shocked. The infuriating all knowing smirk had finally left his face. Dawn had to resist the urge to laugh at each of their expressions, although she had to say the most amusing was Isabel's, (Elizabeth's daughter). Isabel dropped her folk and gaped open mouthed around the table before saying in an utterly astonished voice, "My papa knows him! He has a boat!"

"Quiet please Isabel," Elizabeth said, "and that brings me to my second question, you see, my son tells me that he found you drowning nigh on one league out to sea wearing what appears to be your only items of clothes. It is a rather odd occurrence you must agree Mr. Gobbard."

She was unprepared for this question and so smiled her winning smile and said "angry sea turtles?" with a hopeful shrug.

The rest of dinner passed much like the start and Dawn felt as though she were being interrogated by the FBI. She tried her best to keep all her answers vague, and on the parts where she got lost she either mentioned the sea turtles or forced out a few tears. Sure it made her look slightly insane, and a bit of a wuss, but it did help to direct the conversation away from those topics.

Not only that but she was granted her wish for a bath. Well, not so much granted it as have Elizabeth strongly hint at it. There was only one draw back…

Dawn stared at the large metal tub in trepidation, then down at the clothes she still wore and then across the room to Billie who was once again smirking at her. "Do you have to be here?" asked Dawn.

"Mother does not trust you in a room on your own," he sneered.

Dawn stared at the bath tub again and sighed. How was she supposed to take a bath with Billie right there? Sure she hadn't really hit puberty yet and so hadn't actually got anything to hide, but that didn't mean that she was exactly keen to flaunt all she didn't have.

"Then can you at least turn around?"

Billie's eyebrows rose and he stalked over to where Dawn was. The heat from the fire cast half of him in an orange glow. "If you were not a girl then you would not have any qualms in undressing in front of me. But then again if you were not a girl you would not have given my mother a fake name."

Dawn blushed and she glanced around nervously before coming closer to Billie until she stood nose to nose to him and whispered harshly, "Fine, you're correct. I'm a girl. Happy? I am also a girl who hasn't had a bath in over a month, and I'm a girl with hair so matted that even my nits have abandoned me. And** you** are the boy that is standing between said girl and her very much needed **bath**!"

Billie rolled his eyes, "Sit down on the stool. I'll get the knots out your hair and then read a book while you bathe. But don't get it into your head that I like you; I just can't stand to listen to you complain: it's irksome."

Such wonderful and kind words Dawn had never heard before and without another thought she threw her arms around him and hugged him with all her worth. "Thank you so much!" she cried.

Billie stood frozen in shock and stared at her as though she were the devil himself. Noticing his look Dawn backed off quickly and ran over to the stool blushing fiercely.

Billie got through her hair with surprising tenderness and fewer than expected yelps from Dawn. She still hated him. She just hated him a little less than before.

"I think one of your nits just bit me." Billie muttered under his breath while Dawn held back a giggle and thanked her nits. Already she felt so much better. She ran her fingers through her locks and cringed at the greasy, dirty and utterly repulsive hair her hands came in contact with. The sound of a boy sniggering caught her attention and it took all her will power not to turn around and smack him straight in the other eye.

Her bath was not the relaxing affair she had hoped it would be. Mainly due to Billie insisting on aggravating her with his every breath, movement and comment he made. True to his word he had turned away in the armchair and left her to it, but that had not stopped him from tapping his foot rapidly on the wooden floor and then whistling randomly when he felt the need suited. But the worst were his whines for her to be done already.

As soon as she was clean she exited the dirty bath water and wrapped herself securely in a bathrobe before turning to Billie.

The dark haired boy was curled up on his chair in the most undignified fashion with a large tomb in his hands. His dark hair was tumbled forward and Dawn smiled unconsciously as he reached up a hand to brush the strands from out of his face.

"Stop watching me," he muttered and turned another of the large yellowing pages leisurely.

"What are you reading?" asked Dawn. Billie turned in his chair and looked over her once before making eye contact.

"You look like a girl," he said changing the subject. A groan escaped Dawn's lips and she slumped down in a free armchair.

"I thought we already established that," she said rolling her eyes.

"No, we established that you had a girl's name and talked like a girl. I never once said you looked like one."

Dawn glared as he sent her a smarmy self satisfied smile.

"Are you vexed because I said you looked like a girl, or because I said you didn't? It's hard to keep up."

"I'm vexed because I never met a more irritating blockhead in my entire life!" hissed she as she clenched the arms of her chair violently. To Dawn's further aggravation Billie then leant casually back in his own chair and observed her before closing his book and placing it down on the floor.

"Personally I have never met a blockhead that spoke," he smirked with a chuckle. Dawn glared. In fact, if looks could kill dear Billie Turner would have dropped dead ten times over on the spot. "Also Miss Summers I highly suggest you dress now. If someone were to come in here and find you to be a girl, and to find you with me, dressed as you are…"

Dawn's eyes widened and she glanced down to see herself in the large bathrobe of before. Sure it wasn't revealing: if she were in the twentieth century it would be considered a very good sort of bath robe. But here, in the 17th century, she might as well be parading around in red lacy lingerie. "Don't look," were the only words Dawn managed to say as her cheeks burned and she scuttled over to where her clothes were scrunched up on the ground.

Once she was dressed she retook her seat and sighed in relief to find Billie reading. Even though her curiosity at what he was reading made her want to open her mouth and ask, her common sense had her sealing her lips. The silence echoed through the room and it wasn't long before Dawn took a book from one of the shelves and began to read. Her eyes skimmed the words and soon her eyelids began to droop.

"You will be sleeping in my room across the hall. Try not to snore," said Billie once again without taking his eyes from his book. Her tired body didn't have the energy to argue and she pulled herself up and stumbled to the room without another word. Next to Billie's bed was an assortment of blankets and taking that to be where she was to sleep she collapsed into the pile and fell into a deep slumber.

_A/N: Billie and Dawn will have an interesting relationship… I hope you enjoy it. I wanted something a little different than the perfect, sweet son of Elizabeth and Will. You'll soon learn that he is anything but sweet, but he isn't evil… and he can be nice…You'll understand once I get to the end of this story. His personality is very important to the plot. _

_PLEASE leave review! I love to hear what you guys think of this. I know it is not the best writing in the world; in fact, it is not even the best writing in my street! But I tired hard, and I'm trying to improve. So please review! _


	7. Morning's Chores

A/N I got five reviews for the last chapter! I can not express how thankful I am to you all! Thank you so much for your kind words.

**Chapter Seven**** : Morning's Chores**

"_Conversation should be pleasant without scurrility, witty without affectation, free without indecency, learned without conceitedness, novel without falsehood."_ William Shakespeare

Dawn awoke at half-light the next morning. Her arm felt sort of numb, and so she rubbed it to get some feeling back into the limb. Sitting up she glanced around the small cramped bedroom that she had stayed in. Billie was still fast asleep; he lay half out of the covers with his arm and legs flung in the most awkward position. She stifled a giggle at the line of drool hanging from his open mouth. If only there were cameras in this century, she thought as she gazed upon the perfect blackmail opportunity.

Billie's odd sleeping habits, however, could not compete with his room for Dawn's attention; never had she seen a more interesting room. Normally she would be afraid to snoop, but her distaste for the owner of the room, and with her reputation as "Jacks daughter" to uphold, she felt she couldn't resist.

Knickknacks of every sort covered every surface, and yet there seemed to be some sort of order in the madness that stopped it from appearing messy. Dawn gazed around the room agog with the amazing things she could see; charming model boats, unusual sea shells, drift wood, daggers and swords, medallions, dusty bottles, flags that Dawn did not know existed, broken ornaments, odd bits of jewellery, portraits of various people from practically opposite social status's, and there was even a grand and beautiful helm that stood in one corner as though lording over the rest.

She ran her hands over each item as she explored the room and marvelled at the utter intricacy of some of the items. The daggers, although not encrusted with gem stones and other fancy things, were still some of the most beautiful things Dawn had ever come by. The hilts of the daggers had been weaved and moulded into stunning and fearsome designs, that shone the colour of all the different metals and woods used, even the blades glinted where each cut was done in such a way to cause a different shade. The swords, while there were significantly less of them, were no different, and she longed to pick one up and swish it around the room just to see what sound it made.

Even the miniature ships were skilfully made and had little wooden people on board. Dawn couldn't take her eyes off of all the things and laughed in delight as she placed a shell to her ear to listen to the sound of the ocean. She traced the faces of the portraits with her finger, placed the medallions around her neck and tried on all the rings and bracelets that she came across.

A small and genuine smile crossed Billie's face as he watched Dawn in his room. He'd woken not long after she had begun exploring. At first he'd felt a little angry at her impertinent manner and had been about to snap at her for daring to touch anything of his. But then he'd caught sight of the absolute wonder on her face as she gazed upon one of his daggers, and he'd stopped to just watch. From the moment he'd met her she'd been angry and defensive, never really smiling unless it was false or sarcastic. He was amazed at the transformation from the scowling, shabbily clothed urchin, to the young and carefree girl that was currently laughing in delight at her refection in an ornate mirror he'd found washed up on shore.

She picked up a dusty top hat hanging on a hat stand and placed it upon her brown locks. The hat slid past her ears and over her eyes, coming to rest right on the tip of her nose. An amused snort sounded from behind her and she twirled around in shock. The movement of such an act whilst blind knocked her balance, and she tumbled to the ground in a whirlwind of limbs. She hit the floor with a thump and scowled as the snort became outright laughter. In fury she ripped the top hat from her head and threw it straight at Billie.

"When did you wake?" she asked,

Billie took in her wild eyes and messed up hair. It took a moment for him to quell his laughter and had to avert his eyes from her form to stop it from bubbling up once more.

"Just now," he lied fingering the hat that had just narrowly missed his head.

"Oh" said she as her cheeks began to tinge pink in the shame of being caught. She looked down at her hands and cringed as she noticed the jewels that now adorned them. Seeing her distraction Billie once again looked back at her and smiled at her ridicules appearance. She looked so forlorn sitting there in her guilt,and Billie sighed before saying,

"Around the other side of the Island there's a reef that causes many ships to crash. Some things wash up on the beach, others I find while swimming."

"You're not mad?" said she, glancing up at his face nervously. He shrugged in response and clambered out of bed to where she sat and held out a hand. Taking the hand Dawn allowed him to pull her upright, and there they stood face to face, their hands still joined between them.

"Why are you really here?" he asked softly, staring into her enormous blue eyes questioningly.

Dawn looked down at their joined hands before raising her eyes to his once more. No answer came to her and she bit her lip in worry. The way he was looking at her prevented her from saying any lie that came to mind.

"You are not Jack Sparrows daughter, of that I am certain. Why do you seek him?" he asked this time coming a little closer until they were stood nose to nose.

"To go home," she whispered, "his compass is the only thing that knows the way."

The door to the bedroom banged open and Elizabeth entered wearing a pretty yellow sundress. She blinked at the two of them stood so close before sighing and pulling Billie away by the shoulder, "There will be no fighting in this house," said she with a stern glare, "you boys need to work out your differences. Breakfast is downstairs on the table. I hope you like mangos Mr Gobbard."

Dawn followed Elizabeth down the stairs to the kitchen still puzzled at why she had told Billie the truth. It wasn't even like she thought of him as a friend and she certainly didn't trust him. But then again he hadn't told his mother that she was a girl… Maybe she could trust him a little. She peeked back over her shoulder at him to see him frowning at her back. What was he thinking?

Once breakfast was over with Dawn found herself once again in the sole company of Billie. Elizabeth had had several errands that she wished completed and so had set the two boys to them. The list was rather long and a bit odd when she thought about it; Billie was scowling something fierce about being given these jobs. They were to distract her, of that she was positive.

"Gather a basket of sugar cane and deliver to Sir Puttmire.

You shall be paid one bottle of rum which is to be sent to Miss Thawkins,

Miss Thawkins will pay you fabric for my new dress.

Gather a basket of Arrowroot and a basket of nutmeg and deliver to Dr Langford.

Give Dr Langford the fabric for my dress, for him to give to his wife," read Dawn incredulously,

"It is quite simple Miss Summers. Sir Puttmire brews fine rum, but is now too elderly to collect the ingredients himself. He is an eccentric man that thinks very highly of himself and Miss Thawkins is a batty spinster that drinks more than she ought. Only the visit to Dr Langford will prove to be a reasonably pleasant experience."

He spoke as they walked and placed the small section of parchment into his breast pocket. They were headed towards the beach, and since Dawn had no idea where sugar cane was collected she did not question the matter. Back at Mr. Sanderson's household she had only delivered and received from various sources, never had she had to gather the goods herself.

As soon as they reached the sand Dawn plopped herself down and pulled off her boots, letting her feet free. She ignored Billie's complaints of her wasting time and bade him to do the same. "It's so much more pleasant to walk on a beach barefoot Mr Turner," said she with a grin.

"Your ankles are showing Miss Summers." Billie muttered in reply and Dawn was amused to note that he would look at anything but her; however the self righteous voice he used still served to irritate her.

"My ankles are not your concern," she snapped and in a moment of childishness lifted her leg up and poked him on the thigh with her big toe. He sprang back as though stung glaring at her impropriety.

"Miss Summers!" he hissed looking around fugitively in case anyone saw,

"Oh do stop," sighed she as she placed her hands upon the hot sand to push herself upright, "To all those that are watching," she spread her arms wide and turned around upon the deserted beach, "I am a boy and therefore you have no reason to be worried for your honour." Her twirl stopped once she came face to face once again with the still scowling Billie.

"It is not my honour I am worried for Miss Summers. If someone were to discover… your reputation would be blemished enough with such an act of deceit, being a coquette would only serve to alienate you from all respectable society!"

Dawn's jaw dropped at his censure and at the liberty he took to tell her of it. Anger blossomed in her breast. She puffed herself up and marched over to where he was stood fuming in his disapproval.

"Then as it is not my wish to be accepted into such circles then I should care little as to what they might think," she hissed prodding him in his chest with every word she spoke, "and as to me being a coquette! You could have sooner called me a whore! You bilge-sucking maggot, don't you dare to ever assume to call me such a thing again."

"With language like that I would find rather difficult." Billie spat, "you have the mouth of a common sailor,"

Dawn ground her teeth in fury and half screamed in his face before twirling around and storming off down the beach in a rage. Never in her life had she ever met a more disagreeable person. Could they not speak with one another for longer than five seconds without getting into a fight? He was just so infuriating. So full of himself… She was aware that she had not the proper decorum that a young lady ought to have, but that did not mean that she appreciated him pointing it out.

How she longed for James to be there with her. He'd had set Billie straight. She could just see him now shouting at the stupid little numbskull for daring to talk to her in such a way. The idiotic little worm. How she despised him! She kicked up the sand in her wake and swung her arms viciously as though imagining he might be close enough to hit.

He did not follow her and she soon found herself quite alone. The beach was large and Dawn decided that her best course of action was to simply stroll its length until she came to something of interest. A pleasant walk was long wanting, and it had been forever since she had had a day free from work or toil.

After half an hour of walking she took refuge on a large rock within the shallows of the surf and allowed her feet to dangle into the cool water. There she sat in silence looking so tranquil and at peace and wearing such a delicate smile, that when Elizabeth came upon her she could have believed her son's claims on her gender.

In reality Dawn's smile was caused by the thoughts that had taken up her mind ever since she left Billie. Her mind did not reflect her outer appearance, and was busy creating various painful and humiliating things that should happen to Billie Turner in the course of the day. Elizabeth was of course insensible to these amusing and slightly sadistic thoughts and so addressed Dawn in a kind manner,

"Mr. Gobbard," she called from the beach, "Pray, do you know the whereabouts of my son?"

"Mrs. Turner!" Dawn squeaked and flushed at the shame of being caught. What must Mrs. Tuner think of her now? Skiving from the simple jobs she had been given in exchange for food and board. Undisguised horror showed plainly on her face and Elizabeth was very close to chuckling as she jumped down into the surf and came rushing over to where she stood. "I know not where your son is. We had a disagreement and…"

Elizabeth held up her hand to prevent her from continuing. "I suspected as much," said she with a smile, "The two of you do not seem to be able to be in one another company for more than a minuet without bickering." Dawn blushed again and stared down at her shoes at the admonishment. "I am only searching for him as he has failed to arrive at Sir Puttmire's. The gentleman was kind enough to inform me of it during afternoon tea at Mrs Hanky's when he popped round to borrow her eldest son."

Guilt welled up in Dawn's stomach as her past thoughts ran through her mind. Surely nothing that hideous could have happened to him? She bit her lip and glanced around fugitively. Nothing had been said out loud had it? There could not be a vengeance demon here upon this beach could there? Was it really that improbable? No… there could be… one could never be certain where they were. But no, Dawn was sure that all her sadistic little fantasies had been inside her own head and she was sure that vengeance demons did not read minds. And she was nearly ninety nine percent sure she had not said 'I wish' at any rate.

"Do not look so worried Mr. Gobbard," Elizabeth said as she led the way back down the beach, "he will turn up."

Elizabeth's assurances did little to quell Dawn's guilt and it wasn't long before they split up to comb the island for the elusive boy. After an hour of searching Dawn finally found him sitting with a couple of friends upon some makeshift benches. Annoyed and embarrassed she stormed over and yanked him upright by the top of his arm.

"What are you about!" she growled as she shook him roughly, "I've been worried sick! I thought you were murdered by rabid dogs and buried in pieces beneath a coconut tree!" she stamped her foot to emphasis the point and continued her rant despite his completely flabbergasted countenance, "I have looked everywhere for you! Combed every inch of this godforsaken island for your ungrateful arse I have and look where I find you! With a bunch of delinquents laughing at our expense I bet! You are an ungrateful, pathetic little scoundrel is what you are! By God I can not believe…"

Billie grabbed her other arm roughly and twisted her so that her back was to him and he could securely cover her mouth with his free hand. She kicked and squirmed in an attempt to free herself of his hold, and even bit the palm of his hand. There was no chance of her freeing herself however and Billie only tightened his grasp as he nodded to his friends,

"Good day to you gentleman. It was a pleasure. But a small and rather disagreeable pest has turned up that I feel much be seen to immediately. Do beg my pardon," he said, much to the amusement of his friends.

Dawn was dragged a good while away until they were alone once more. Only then did Billie release her and it was just to practically throw her from him. She landed with a thud on the forest floor and sat up rubbing her arms and glaring ferociously. Tears welled up in her eyes as her bottom stung at the impact and her arms ached from his grip.

"What was that?" he asked throwing his arms wide in disbelief not even noticing her distressed state, "Since when have you been worried for my well being! We are barley acquainted. If I had not known you was a girl I would have struck you for the way you just spoke to me in front of my friends. What must they think? Are you purposely obtuse?"

Dawn stared down at the leaves and bits of twigs that lay about her not daring to look up into his face. Tears tracked down her cheeks, partly from the pain and partly from embarrassment. She didn't know why she had acted that way. The guilt of their argument and her own vindictive thoughts had her so worried about him being missing, so scared of him having been attacked by some vicious fiend, that when she saw him alive, well, and perfectly happy she had been utterly furious at him for making her feel as she did before. But there was no way to convey that to him, not that she would want him to know all this. It would be humiliating. It was all just getting too much. She was lost, lonely and utterly spent: all she wanted to do right now was sit and cry.

"Are you going to get up? I have a mother to pacify and sugar to collect."

Dawn still did not move and it was only then that he saw her shoulders were shaking. Was she crying? The fiercest girl he had ever known was now sobbing on the forest floor simply because he had called her stupid? With a sigh he knelt down beside her and peered at her face that lay buried in her knees. His anger evaporated at the sight and instead he sat down besides her and pulled her arm gently towards him.

She landed on his chest and curled herself around him as she sobbed into his shirt. The closeness was a new thing to Billie and he shifted uncomfortably for a while before leaning back on a tree in defeat. He rubbed her back soothingly as he had seen his mother do to Isabelle when she got upset, but his words of comfort failed him. After all, he couldn't even figure out why she was crying.

He woke up around an hour later to see that her cries had stopped and that she was now fast asleep. Her face was red and blotchy from tears, but other than that she looked peaceful. Absently he let his fingers run through her soft locks as he eased out the tangles and straightened the green bandana she never took off. It was odd, he recalled his mother offering her a replacement for the now rather tatty bit of cloth, but she had been so viciously against it that the subject had been dropped. It was an odd little bundle of mysteries that now lay asleep in his arms.

The first thing Dawn felt when she woke was the feeling of protection and serenity she had not felt since before Glory came to Sunnydale. She felt light as though she had cried away all feeling, leaving her clean and ready to start anew. That dam had been building inside of her for too long, she supposed, and it was so refreshing to feel a little free from it.

Billie noticed the change in her breathing immediately and paled as he foresaw the awkwardness that would follow. To his surprise she took longer than he expected to leave his embrace and instead seemed to stay there for some time before sheepishly sitting up.

When she did finally decide to leave the comfort of Billie's arms Dawn did so reluctantly and nervously. She was aware of all the rules she had broken in proper decorum by embracing him as she had and as so was much more embarrassed at her behaviour than she normally would have been.

"I'm sorry," she whispered not daring to make eye contact, "for everything."

Her face was flushed and Billie could not tell if it was from embarrassment or from the tears of before. "I'm sorry too," he said softy eyeing the purplish hue on her arm from where he had grabbed her, "Let us forget. You can wash your face in the sea and then we can go and find my mother. We can tell her I fell asleep in the shade and that you found me and woke me."

Dawn nodded and followed him out onto the beach to wash. They completed the chores they were given in silence. Not a word was uttered from her lips all day and instead she acted more as Billie's shadow than anything. Twice he caught her trying to curtsy when she was addressed and twice he had to prod her with his elbow to stop her. She hardly even spoke at dinner and answered only yes and no to any direct question sent to her.

That night she went to bed early which left Billie downstairs with a very curious mother. The only answer that he could think to give her was that she upset over the lack of leads on her father.

_A/N. Dawn's breakdown was mainly due to stress and anger. It appeared one day in the middle of my writing and so I let it stay. It also shows the softer side of Billie, the side we will see very little of in this story. __(Don't worry… Billie is still Billie.) I also thought that Dawn was over due for a breakdown…In all honesty, this chapter was never in the plan. The argument was, but everything surrounding it was not. It wrote itself. I hope you guys don't mind the drama. _

_Please leave a review! I love them so much! _


	8. A Cunning Plan

A/N. Thank you to my lovely reviewers! Look; I updated on time!

Ten points if you can spot Billie's reason!

**Chapter Eight****: A Cunning Plan**

"_As cunning as a fox who's just been appointed Professor of Cunning at Oxford University?"_ Blackadder

The next morning brought new hope. Dawn was speaking to him again and although this shouldn't have brought him joy, it did. He had come to the conclusion that life was oddly dull when Dawn wasn't either insulting him or amusing him in some manner or form. He actually awoke to see Dawn once again playing in his room. It appeared that her last experience if doing this had not been mortifying enough. Although it appeared as though she learned her lesson in the playing dress up area as she wore none of his trinkets on her person. No, instead she was swinging around one of his most loved swords like a drunken sailor in a storm.

"I suggest you put that down Miss Summers, before you injure yourself, or more importantly, before you injure me," said he with an infuriating smirk. Dawn complied at once and turned to him, pouting in a ridicules manner. Obviously she had developed a new tactic of getting what she wanted that did not involve paddying, he observed.

"Do you know how to use them?" she asked and at his nod she continued, "because if I am to travel in search of a pirate wouldn't it be prudent to learn how to fight myself?"

Billie raised an eyebrow sceptically,

"I already know some of the basics and I'd know more if my sister would have let me near anything reasonably sharp… I swear I'll do exactly as you say!"

Billie reluctantly agreed to teach her how to fight. Not because he wanted to, but because he dreaded the whining and begging that would be sure to follow a negative answer. They practiced first with wooden sticks and fought back and fourth across the hot sand for many an hour. Often Elizabeth and Isabelle would come down to watch them, and Dawn would be given the humiliation of being thwarted in front of an audience. It was, however, nice to see Billie have his form corrected from time to time by his mother.

Dawn stayed with the turners for nigh on one month, and spent most of her mornings upon the beach fighting with Billie. Be it with swords or without swords. They still continued to argue relentlessly and the only point they could agree on was their mutual dislike of the other.

She only really saw Billie in the mornings and evenings as during the day he worked in the blacksmith shop. Only on one occasion had she visited the place and had never stepped foot in it again. The hot and sweaty atmosphere had put her off from the start, but what had really turned her against the place was her shirtless enemy working away in said hot and sweaty atmosphere. She did not wish to examine nor have a repeat of the sensations that that view had afforded her. But it was safe to say that Dawn was quite decided that if she ever did marry, her husband would be a blacksmith: it did wonders for the physic.

"Miss Summers, you are dead. Again." Billie said one morning as looked down at her lying defeated on the sand. The tip of his stick was pointed to just below her chin and he smirked at her pouting face. "It is not my fault that you fight like a girl," said he as he held out a hand to help her up.

With a growl Dawn took the hand and yanked him so that he tumbled down on top of her. She then proceeded to flip him under her and straddled his hips whilst holding his hands above his head. It was her turn to smirk at his horrified expression.

"First of all Mr. Turner, my sister would beat you in every manner of fighting, and she would be what you might call a girl. Probably the girlish of the lot! And secondly," this time she really smirked, "it looks like it is I who is the victor now."

Billie shook his head and bucked his hips sharply causing her to lose her hold, and for him to propel her off of him. This resulted in a vicious scuffle between the two of them. The aim of the game was to have the other in such a position that they could not move and so would have to admit defeat.

Unbeknownst to them, Elizabeth watched the two from a short distance away. There was something about young Walter Gobberd that struck Elizabeth as odd, and she was sure that her son was in on the secret. This in itself was rather strange as her son made no secret of disliking and distrusting Gobberd, and so to keep a secret for someone he despised was in itself a mystery.

Dawn stared up at the clear blue sky and ran her hand across her head. The fight had ended with Dawn as the victor, although since she had cheated Billie considered himself to have won. Naturally she had argued the point as it was more often than not Billie who cheated, and on those occasions he was always awarded the victorious one.

"Is it true that a ship comes in tomorrow?" she asked Billie who lay by a short distance from herself.

"It is. Come to exchange some tobacco for Mr Puttmirs rum I presume. You plan on boarding it?"

"I heard it might be heading to Tortuga and since coming here has not brought be closer to my goal I shall have to revert to my previous destination."

"In that case we had better pack, Miss Summers."

Dawn stared at him incredulously before exclaiming, "_We_? You're coming? But you hate me!"

"That is true," said Billie as he sat up to observe the wide eyed girl before him, "but I do not think it fair that you get all the fun."

"It is not fun! It is hard work, dangerous, smelly and… why would you want to come?" Billie chuckled and shook his head at her protests.

"I'm coming Miss Summers, and nothing you can do or say will stop me. This island is boring, and as much as I loath you, you are the most interesting thing that has happened here since my father returned home five years ago."

Dawn's small mouth dropped open in disbelief as she watched Billie jump to his feet and head off towards town. The realisation of why he hadn't exposed her when he first found out her secret suddenly became clear and she sprang to her feet and jogged to his side,

"You planned this! Didn't you?" it wasn't a question, and Billie's smirk only proved her correct, "Is that the only reason you kept my secret? So that you could tag along when the time came?"

"If you recall, you may just find that I did no such thing. In fact I tried to expose you several times. It was curiosity, in the end, that sealed my lips. And it is curiosity that is taking me with you to find the legendary Captain Jack Sparrow."

The conversation had given her much to think on and so leaving him to his walk she sat back down upon the sand. There was something he wasn't telling her. Curiosity was a rather lame excuse to come sailing half way across the ocean with a bunch of rabid sailors.

When she entered the room she now shared with Billie she found the boy sat upon his bed surrounded by all manner of things. As she watched him her eyebrows rose in disbelief and her mouth quirked into a smile. She leant on the doorframe with a thump. A small cough effortlessly caught his attention and he looked up just as he placed a pair of burgundy socks into the knapsack.

"You forgot the kitchen sink," she said teasingly. A clueless look crossed his face and he grabbed his knapsack to check it through. Dawn's eyes widened and she snorted. Billie threw down the knapsack onto the bed and whipped his head up to glare at her,

"Is there a joke?" he asked. Dawn bit her lip and snorted again.

"I… I…It's…"- Billie's eyes narrowed and but it only heightened her giggles- "saying… I… kitchen sink… I…" she managed to splutter.

"Your idiocy is vexing. Do spit it out!" Billie snapped, but Dawn continued shaking her head as tears of mirth rolled down her cheeks.

BANG!

"Eeep!" Dawn dove out of the way of a flying sea shell the size of her fist. "That could have hit me!" she cried. She lifted up the offending shell from where it had fallen and waved it in the air violently. Her face flushed as she flung it back as hard as she could. With a smash it crashed against the back wall and crumbled into pieces.

"As I was saying: would you care to explain the joke to me?" Billie said through gritted teeth.

Her mouth dropped open and she gaped at him in amazement. "You threw a shell at my head!" were the only words that would form.

"The joke" he repeated.

Dawn blinked, shook her head, and cried "You looked into your bag for a kitchen sink, you imbecile. What did you think I was laughing at?"

A blush ran up Billie's face, he averted his eyes and snatched his knapsack back towards himself, "I was under the impression that it was some sort of pirate slang I have not been acquainted with," he said as his fumbling hands continued to shove random items into the knapsack, "and if it is so obtuse why did you mention it?"

"It is a saying…" she said distracted by his packing, "You can not, honestly, expect to bring… all that," she said sighing; she walked over to where he sat and snatched an old brown glass bottle from his hands, "for example. What possible use do you foresee that requires an old glass bottle?"

Billie snatched it back and shoved it into his bag, averting his eyes from hers, "It contains a letter from my father," he said and turned to gaze out of his bedroom window. Dawn followed his vision but saw nothing but a neighbouring house and a few palm trees.

"Fine," she said and rolled her eyes, "but what about everything else? If we need to leave in a hurry you may not have time to grab that, so I suggest you don't take anything you can not afford to lose." He grumbled something undecipherable and chucked her a knapsack that lay besides the one he was packing. Taking this one to be hers, Dawn began putting her meagre possessions into it.

The ship was due to arrive early the next morning. A crowd was already gathered at the docks by the time Dawn and Billie arrived. Bustling couples all dressed in their Sunday bests were whispering furiously to their neighbours. Half wild children were scurrying across the sand in excitement, weaving between the adults legs and brandishing sticks like swords. Sir Puttmire was easily visible in the throng; his brightly coloured top hat and shiny black cane saw to that. He was talking in a loud booming voice to a somewhat ill looking Miss Thawkins, about how lucky the fine sailors were going to find themselves when they saw what great quality his rum was. Dawn pointed them out to Billie with a giggle as soon as she spotted the pair, and pulled him around to give them a wide berth.

"Billie; Fanny says that sailors are all mad, tell Fanny that it ain't true, tell her!"

Billie glared down at his younger sister and her somewhat scruffy friend. His mother stood a little ways off talking to Dr Langford; she too wore her Sunday best and was twirling her new parasol cheerfully.

"Miss Fanny, I assure you that not all sailors are mad. I happen to have met a couple myself, and Mr Gobbard here is a sailor himself," Dawn flashed the little girl a smile, "now run along please. I desire a word with my sister."

The little girl gave a clumsy curtsy before scurrying off back into the crowd, leaving Isabelle alone. "I do not like the company you keep Isabelle; she is a bad influence on you," he said, "I have not heard you use the word 'ain't' before, and do not wish to hear it again." Isabelle blushed and fiddled with the threads on her dress. Dawn thought she heard a muttered apology, but she couldn't be sure as at that moment the crowd began cheering. The ship had come into the docks.

It was a grand ship: the biggest ship that Dawn had ever laid eyes on since the burning wreck she saw when she first jumped through the portal. "They'd never hire us in a month of Sundays," she gasped in horror as realisation set in. A ship as marvellous as that would have no need for a couple of teenagers with little boating experience. And even if they were in want of help, they would be sure to ask questions.

"Hire you?" Isabelle parroted.

"Um… no… What I meant to say was…"

"Mr Gobbard was just commenting on the grandeur of the ship my darling sister. Now shoo!"

Isabelle pulled a face at them and scampered off into the crowd: in the opposite direction of her mother. This did not seem to bother Billie as he watched her go with an amused smile. As soon as she was out of site, and hearing, he grabbed Dawn's arm and pulled her to his side, "They don't have to hire us."

It was a daunting idea. Probably the most foolish idea Dawn had ever heard, and she was the one who came up with the idea of impersonating a boy to travel on a fishing vessel in search of Jack Sparrow in order to steal his compass. But, as Billie had already pointed out, her foolish plan had worked so far, so what was one more?

The ship was guarded by two gentlemen in a stripped uniform. Dawn thought that the two gentlemen would have looked more in place upon the fishing vessel she had travelled on; she mentioned this to Billie, who replied, "Then let us pray they are as uneducated."

The first gentleman was a squat man with a bald head and smattering of uneven facial hair. His uniform looked unnatural on his filthy body, and the sword he carried appeared to be a lot older than the ones the other sailors held. He was bickering with the other guard; a tall gangly man that was wearing an eye patch over one eye.

Billie and she crept as close as they could to the docks before ducking down onto the sand and taking shelter beneath the wooden walkway. "What are they arguing about?" Dawn asked Billie, who had clambered up onto a wooden stump and had his ear pressed up to a crack in the wood.

He jumped down beside Dawn and frowned,

"I am not sure. It appears as though they do not wish to be seen by someone and are discussing places to hide. We are in luck though; I have never heard a more obtuse pair in my life. They could give you a run for your money." Ignoring the jab Dawn replied,

"So, what is the plan? The ship leaves again at dusk… if we board too early your mother will catch us, but we can not board too late because there will be too many sailors around…and we need to get around those two guards..."

"Miss Thawkins," Billie whispered eagerly. Dawn shook her head in disbelief,

"Pray be jesting!"

"Jesting I am not: it's perfect. This plan can not fail."

"I beg to differ," came her sceptical reply.

They left the docks shortly after they had perfected their plan, and joined Elizabeth and Isabelle in a stroll down the beach. They were joined by Dr Langford and his wife, a pretty lady who automatically pulled Elizabeth into a conversation about the latest styles. Billie and Dawn remained silent for most of the walk, each lost in their own thoughts. The only words that passed between them, was when one spotted a flaw in their plan and took a moment to whisper it to the other. This secretive behaviour did not make Elizabeth nearly as suspicious as them getting along did, and it took one hell of a fabricated story involving Billie's close shave with a sea turtle to pacify her.

Just before dusk was to fall Dawn and Billie snuck out under the pretence of watching the ship leave. They invited Elizabeth to come with them to squash any suspicions of what they were really up to.

It was still light as they left the house; luckily Elizabeth was heading down later with Mrs Langford after a late dinner. Of course Dawn and Billie had overheard Mrs Langford inviting Elizabeth earlier that day.

As soon as the house was out of site Billie grabbed Dawn's arm and began to run towards the blacksmiths shop. This sudden need to rush caught Dawn by surprise and she stumbled clumsily as she was dragged along. "Why are we running?" she asked,

"Dinner is nearly over. He comes back to the shop after. Make haste," panted Billie. The door was closed when they arrived and so Billie had Dawn sit outside the door and keep watch while he went in to get them some swords.

The blacksmiths shop was out on the main street of the town and so many people hailed her cheerfully as they passed. It wasn't unusual for them to see the young urchin boy hanging around with Mr Billie Turner, and so to see her sat outside the place where he worked was perfectly natural.

"I still don't see why we couldn't just use the ones in your room," Dawn hissed through the door,

"Because, carrying a whopping great sword out of the house, and past my mother, might be a bit of a give away, Miss Summers,"

Dawn rolled her eyes and scuffed her booted foot in the dust as she waited. It wasn't long before Billie returned carrying the swords wrapped in a grey rag. He flung the door closed again behind him and locked it with his key. A couple people threw him a funny look, but he just nodded politely to them as though he had nothing to hide, and when Mrs Yakky raised a suspicious eyebrow at him, he waved, and wished her a pleasant evening.

They headed straight for Miss Thawkins house. Miss Thawkins did not live too far from the blacksmiths, and at this time would be roaring drunk in her front room; of this Billie was sure.

"Tell her anything," Billie said as they arrived at the walkway up to her home, "just get her to the docks."

Dawn nodded and headed up the small walkway alone. She raised her hand to the door and gave three hard knocks. Normally when going to a person's house she would ring the bell, but the brass bell in Miss Thawkins house had been broken and never fixed. It took quite a long time for the drunken spinster's maid servant to answer the door, and by the time she had Billie was up the street and out of site. She fidgeted with the hem of her blouse and began tugging it this way and that; her nerves were getting the better of her.

"Good Evening Mr Gobberd. I am afraid Miss Thawkins is indisposed this evening, is there anything…"

"I come by the way of the doctor," she said with a stroke of genius, "he is most worried for her health and quite insisted that she be taken out for a walk upon the docks this evening, and on my word as a gentleman I said I would be the one to assist the fine lady."

The maid servant eyed him up and down and twisted her lip, "Your word as a _gentleman_," she scoffed,

"Aye, miss, a gentleman. They can take my gold, but they can not take my status; I am the son of a gentleman, and therefore my word should be treated as such!" she was surprised at how stern she could sound when she truly tried, and it was a credit to her self control that she did not bust into giggles at the look of horror that graced the maid servants face.

"I am truly sorry for the slight upon your status Mr Gobbard. I will bring Miss Thawkins right out, but I do warn you, she is not feeling altogether well this evening."

It worked a treat! The maid servant reappeared at the door supporting Miss Thawkins; she was an utter mess and Dawn was almost embarrassed to have to walk with her. The woman's dress was stained with rum and her breath was most hideous to come near, but what was far worse than all this was the state of drunkenness she was in; she could barely place one foot in front of the other without falling down.

"I insist that I accompany you," the maid servant said in a way which Dawn knew brooked no arguments. But Dawn did not wish to argue: supporting a drunken idiot was not on the agenda for the night.

_A/N. _

_You may recognise the two sailors and you may think that they are on the wrong ship. They are not. At the end of At Worlds End a pair of sailors sort of switched places with another pair of sailors. (Well, they did in my mind). After all, now that they aren't immortal no more they have to look after their mortal souls. _

_This chapter is a little uneven I think, so I apologise for that. And I also apologise for explaining a month away at the start of the chapter… I needed Dawn and Billie to have known one another for longer than a couple of days. _

_Next chapter there will finally be a bit of action, and the main part of the story really starts! It should be up next Wed, Thurs or Friday... just keep an eye out. _

_Please don't forget to leave a review! _


	9. The Big Splash

_A/N. Thanks again to my reviewers! The adventure finally begins…_

**Chapter Nine: The Big Splash**

"_Genius may have its limitations, but stupidity is not thus handicapped." _Elbert Hubbard.

The walk down to the beach took longer than usual; Miss Thawkins seemed to favour a zig zag pattern as opposed to a straight one. Dawn attempted to keep up a steady stream of conversation between herself and Miss Thawkins to give the impression that she cared; the conversation was a halted one and Miss Thawkins couldn't seem to remember what was said two minuets ago, and so Dawn was told the same stories numerous times in concession.

Meanwhile Billie was scurrying across the sand, down to the great ship and towards the docks. The walkway up to the ship was guarded by the same gentleman Billie and Dawn had seen earlier that day. They were not talking this time and appeared to be having a competition to see who could stand up the tallest. Billie chuckled at the ridicules sight before tugging on his waistcoat to straighten it, and brushing a couple strands of his hair back into his bandana.

"Good evening gentleman!" Billie hailed as his feet touched the wood of the docks.

The short plump man jumped and peered around the docks, "Evenin'? It don't look like evenin' to me," he said.

Billie gave a bright grin and strolled down the jetty to where they stood, "looks can be deceiving gentleman," said Billie with a smirk, "Billie Turner, a pleasure to meet you."

Of all the reactions Billie had expected, the two sailors staring at him in horror before battling their way past him and running like chickens off down the beach, while one shouted bible quotes to the other, was not the reaction he had expected.

He stood for a moment on the abandoned jetty, too shocked to move. "Well, that was surprisingly easy," he muttered to himself. Maybe he had lied when he told little Fanny that sailors were not insane. The only problem he now had was dealing with Dawn's ire when she realised that he had gotten access onto the ship without the use of Miss Thawkin's drunken state to lure away the sailors.

A couple of empty wooden barrels placed near the entrance of the ship served as a temporary shelter, and so once he had boarded the ship he opened the lid to one of these and climbed inside. If he eased the lid of the barrel up a little he could create a large enough looking space to see the beach, and therefore keep an eye out for Dawn. If was awfully cramped and stuffy inside the barrel and Billie was sure that something kept running over his foot; he shuddered and gulped at the thought of spiders and rats crawling up his legs. The lid of the barrel was slimy and so he held it open using his left hand; keeping his hair as slime free as possible: this had to be the worst hiding place he had ever chosen.

Dawn was due any minuet now, and sure enough the wobbling trio came stumbling onto the beach moments later. He cursed her for bringing the maid servant; if the maid servant was not there Dawn could have left Miss Thawkins and boarded the ship without anyone being the wiser. She was such a distance away that he could not see her expression when she spied the empty jetty, but he could certainly imagine it, and from how she had frozen ridged on the sand he could tell she not at all impressed.

"What on earth is the matter Mr. Gobbard?" the maid servant asked in answer to Dawn's queer behaviour: the maid servant and Miss Thawkins were already a couple of yards in front of where Dawn had fallen still.

"I just remembered," stuttered Dawn, racking her brain for something to remember, "I…I… I. Isabel!"

"What about the young Miss Turner?"

"Um…" Dawn wiped her brow and looked up in search of something, "She… um… she… I promised… I forgot… pray forgive me!" she finally blurted and hurried off back the way the three had come, cursing Billie to high heavens.

"That little rascal," she hissed as she pulled herself up a nearby tree, where she would wait for Miss Thawkins and the maid servant to pass under her, "how dare he! When I get my hands on him," she used the jagged bark of the palm tree as her grip and wrapped her legs around the trunk to support the main part of her weight. She growled as she got near to the top where the large green leaves came down around her, and there she waited, clinging to the trunk and still cursing Billie.

It took an abnormally long time for Miss Thawkins and the maid servant to pass by and so Dawn's arms and legs were aching something fierce when they finally did. Getting down from the palm tree was much harder and more painful than getting up, and by the time she was near the bottom the bark had shredded her nice shirt and left big gaping holes in her breeches. At the last two meters her arms finally failed her, and she fell to the ground with a thump; she groaned and rubbed her now sore bottom while peering at the scratch marks on her arms and legs.

She stormed down the beach towards the ship utterly livid at Billie for being so mean and vindictive as to make her travel with that woman when he did not need such a distraction for the sailors. Sand flew up in her wake as she crossed the beach, and the wood rattled as she pounded up the gangway,

Billie burst from the barrel just as Dawn was passing it and threw his arms wide, "I swear they just…" he began, but Dawn screamed at his sudden appearance and jumped back a couple of paces onto the gangway; her footing slipped as she hit the slanted panel; her feet flew out from under her, and once again she fell to her bottom with a thump, then the poor girl slid a couple of yards down the gangway, bumping her sore bottom against the little ridges every thirty centimetres or so. When she finally came to a rest she looked up at Billie who was barely containing his laughter, still stood inside the barrel.

"I hate you," she hissed, but Billie did not answer, instead his face turned to one of worry and he indicated behind him frantically before he ducked back down inside the wooden barrel. Dawn heard it too: footsteps and shouting; they had heard her scream. She scrambled up and hurried over the barrels, but she did not have time to take refuge inside of one and instead had to crouch down behind the one Billie was hiding inside.

"Where in Gods name is Ragetti and Pintel?" a tall and stern looking man asked his companion; a worn elderly sailor with a big black bushy beard, which gave him the impression of being a gnome.

"Pathetic lumps of useless seaweed they are Captain, I said ye shouldn't have trusted the scoundrels; they probably got scared by a wandering rat."

Dawn held her breath. She was crouched very uncomfortably behind the barrel and with her hands wrapped around her knees she was rather unstable, if the two sailors did not leave soon she was sure to fall and reveal herself. She could not place her hands down on to the deck to steady her body as they might be visible to the two gentlemen, and so she was forced to rest her forehead gently against the filthy wooden barrel Billie was hiding inside to keep her balance.

The sailors stayed for longer than was necessary chatting between themselves about nothing of interest. Well, it was interesting to them, but Dawn had never held that much fascination in the different types of rum. They left after half an hour of talking with the decision to return with a couple of the lower sailors to guard the gangway. When they were out of sight Dawn stood up and stretched out her cramped legs before lifting the lid of Billie's barrel and indicating that he should get out of it,

"plus…" she whispered, "do you really think these barrels will stay empty for long,"

Together they crept across the deck and took to ducking behind various objects when a sailor strolled passed them. They were headed for the life boats, which were positioned along the edge of the ship. If they could find their shelter inside these boats then they would be safe until they set sail; the boats were large enough to fit ten men comfortably and so as long as Dawn and Billie sat on the floor between the chairs, they would be in reasonable comfort.

It was dark inside the boats and they swung and clunked on the side of the ship when a particularly large wave hit, but Dawn assured Billie that they only did that when the boat was docked.

"So," whispered Dawn, "we just stay in here until the boat hits open sea, and then when night falls, you sneak into the kitchen and get dinner."

"And why, pray tell, must it be me?" Billie whispered back,

"Mr. Turner, because of you I have more bumps and bruises covering my body than I did when I first came to the forsaken place, and because if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have had to…"

"Ok, Ok, I'll go," he quickly cut in as her voice was rising with every word.

To Dawn's surprise, Billie proved to be quite adept at finding food, and returned not long after she had sent him carrying an apple, a hand full of dried meat and a goblet filled with water.

"It was not too difficult," he whispered once he was back in the safety of the life boat, "The stores below the kitchen are well stocked and not at all guarded. I would have taken more but for the fear of someone noticing,"

Dawn nodded, though the darkness prevented Billie from seeing. It was an odd feeling to eat what you could not see, and not at all a comfortable one. The feeling of foreboding lay heavy over the pair so that the only words spoken were a necessity.

"What time is it?" Dawn asked; she was stiff and sore after being sat in one position for so long, and the thick covers over the boats prevented them from seeing whether it was night or day. At one point she had slept, but she did not know for how long, it could have been that only an hour had passed since Billie had gotten their dinner, or it could have been several. She heard Billie scuttle closer and then felt a rather sharp prod on her left arm; she muttered a screech at the contact and settled on poking him back.

"I was just seeing where you sit," Billie hissed as he rubbed his chest, "I almost forgot you were there. When I envisioned this I have to admit I expected something a little more…"

"Exciting?" Dawn offered, "as did I. I have to say that this has been the most boring start to an adventure ever,"

"It is the start of my adventure Miss Summers; I believe that this is the middle of yours,"

Dawn giggled slightly, "maybe, I hope so, the middle is the most exciting and dangerous part of any adventure, so if I am at the middle, and hiding in a dark boring lifeboat is my middle, then I am near the end, and have a chance of living through it,"

"Or maybe, you are just having a very long adventure and have not yet reached the middle,"

Dawn blinked and threw Billie a disbelieving look, "You just can't agree with me can you?" she said in wonderment as Billie laughed.

The laugh soon drifted into silence and the pair once more found themselves staring at black nothingness. Dawn proposed a game, but Billie declined, stating that they had to keep a keen ear out in case any sailors passed by.

They say that boredom eventually will lead to insanity, and so it was lucky for Dawn, who was already starting to think herself going insane, that a commotion was heard on deck the very next morning.

The shouts were disjoined and panicked, and many a man were running up and down deck presumably following orders, which despite the chaos up on deck, were very clear to Dawn and Billie who were huddled in the depths of the lifeboat: flee.

"This does not sound encouraging," Billie said to Dawn as they looking this way and that in the darkness, their heads unconsciously trying to follow the shouts,

"Be careful what you wish for," Dawn muttered back, remembering their conversation last night and wincing. Fate certainly had a sense of humour.

Nobody likes being left in the dark, and they like it even less when it is in the literal sense as it was with Dawn and Billie, and so it was soon decided between them, with much bickering, that they should look out to sea and try and find out what it was the sailors had spotted.

"There!" Billie exclaimed needlessly; Dawn gasped: coming closer every second, a large ship with tall black sails was sailing at a great speed.

"Do you think they are pirates?" asked Dawn, tugging on Billie's arm,

"I have no doubt. We must take cover; I know of only one ship that has black sails, my mother told me the story of The Black Pearl many a time. The pirates may be an acquaintance of my mothers, but they are not acquaintances of mine and will make short work of this ship… Miss Summers where are you going?" exclaimed Billie in shock as he saw Dawn's leg disappearing from view,

"I always wanted to meet a pirate," she said in parting. This would not go well, thought Billie as he sat in the dark lifeboat, but Miss Summers had chosen her path, and it was not the one he himself would be travelling. Billie reached down to his hip and with drew his sword; he would wait here until the pirates caught up, and when they did, he would fight.

Dawn, on the other hand, had no plans of fighting the pirates, in fact, she planned on helping them.

Her boots pounded hard against the deck as she ran, ignoring the strange looks, and the shouts of alarm that were sounded as the sailors realised what she was. Stowaway was screamed from every corner of the ship, and Dawn knew that her time was now limited.

She ducked behind some large brown bags to catch her breath and think ahead of what to do next; her head was fuzzy and her legs felt oddly numb from being thrown into exercise that soon after being left stationary for so long. Pins and needles would soon set in; she knew she would have to act fast.

She brushed the strands of hair from her face and peered around the side of the sack: several sailors were milling around, at least two were looking for her, the others appeared to be preparing for battle, or pulling on the rigging to move the sails to their best advantage. Biting her lip she wiped her sweaty palms on her breaches and set her eyes determinedly on the spot where the anchor sat.

The second the sailors were looking the other way Dawn burst from her hiding place and went sprinting across the ship, weaving and ducking between the unsuspecting sailors; a couple made a grab for her, but she dodged their fumbling hands and urged her legs on harder and faster.

"Get him!" the cry was heard throughout the ship, but only a few sailors could spare their time to chase a young stowaway. Dawn threw everything she came to back towards the chasing men, barrels, bags, rope and buckets, but she did not look back to see the poor men get hit by the flying barrels, or trip on the bags and rope, nor did she see them slip on the soapy water from the buckets, or cry in pain if they were unlucky to get one filled with tar. Dawn just ran, her vision in sight, the long wooden lever that when pulled would lower the anchor and grind the ship to a halt.

She dove up the last steps and skidded across the wood on her belly, coming to rest just beside the leaver. Grabbing it with both hands she grinned in triumph as the fallen sailors looked on in horror, and then she pulled back using her full weight and all the strength she possessed. The lever sprang forward and a loud splash sounded that the metal weight had been dropped.

A gasp went through the ship. A creaking of wood and a deep groan sounded. The ship tilted to one side so steeply that Dawn fell hard against the railing and cried out in pain.

"You fool!" one of the sailors shouted; a young man half covered in dripping tar came charging towards her. Dawn clutched the railing for balance and stared in fear at the angry mob of sailors advancing on her,

"Prepare the guns! And strike down that murderous fool!" the shout sounded from over head and Dawn stared up to see the captain glaring down across the crew.

The men were angry. They were once more advancing on her. She cowered and backed up away from them, clutching the railing as though it served as some form of protection. She could draw her sword, but what use would it be against these men, who were many and more skilled. Her hands trembled. More men were behind her. They were shouting now, jeering. She gulped and turned to face the railing, she peered down to the sea: it wasn't that far, there was a chance she would survive; more of chance than she would have if she stayed up on deck.

She gave one last look at the ferocious looking sailors and hoisted the knapsack higher up on her shoulder. The last thought that ran through her head as she climbed up onto the railing and dived down into the depths of the sea, was that maybe dropping the anchor had not been her best idea to date.

The water was cold and nearly took her breath away as she dove down, but she had been prepared. This had not been the first time she had jumped from a ship. She swam along the length of the ship, not daring to go too far so that they could spot her, and shoot her with their guns. She came to the surface in time to see a tirade of bullets hit the water not far from where she floated. She ducked under once more and swam further along still until she was at the other end of the ship from when she had started.

When she came back up again she was very close to the ship and had to duck below the water to avoid the backlash of the waves as they hit the side of the ship. She sniffed and looked around wearily: the Black Pearl was nearly on them and would soon begin firing, when that happened she had to be out of range, but she could see nowhere that she might go.

BOOM!

A cannon ball zoomed over her head and smashed through the side of the ship sending blackened pieces of wood flying in every direction. Instinctively she threw her arms up over her head and ducked below the water, but she had not been prepared and when she finally managed to surface again she barley managed to stay afloat as she gasped for air with rasping coughs.

She could hear the captain shouting orders above her, and soon the ship was firing back. Booms and bangs were all she could hear as she dodged the splinters that flew through the air. The Black pearl was still some distance away, but it would not be long until the pirates would be able to board. She needed to get out of the water; she could not stay between two battling ships.

She whipped her head around in all directions searching for something; her eyes fell on the hole the first cannon ball had caused, and sniffling she dug her fingers into the grooves of the wood and began to try and pull herself upwards. It was hard going, the grooves were not meant for climbing up, and the ship was wet and slippy, many a time she fell back into the water and was smashed up against the side of the ship by the current. It was the last time she was tossed against the ship that she decided to use the waves to her advantage and waited for a particularly big one. Using the momentum of the wave she dove upwards, out of the water, and grabbed hold of the jagged wooden hole. Pain shot through her fingers as the wood splintered off and embedded themselves into her skin; wincing she held back the tears that sprung unwanted to her eyes and hoisted herself up high enough to tumble through the hole and into the room below.

It was wet; she landed with a splash into mildew infested water and then grimacing as the stink of mould and rotten fish assaulted her nose, she gingerly got to her feet and assessed her situation. It appeared as though she had landed in the Brigg, if the large metal bars surrounding her were any indication.

"Brilliant," she muttered to herself and wrapped her wet arms around her body for warmth as a cool breeze washed over her. The hole in the side of the ship was just above head height, which was a bit of a set back for Dawn, who was planning on leaving the way she came.

She waded her way over to the bars and pushed against them with her shoulder; they wouldn't budge. Before she could question who would lock an empty cell, a rather irate voice snapped at her from the corner,

"I hate you,"

Dawn jumped and swung around to see Billie Turner curled up on the only mildly dry patch of ground.

_Hey look! A bit of action! And it won't be the last! Is this a little rushed? I'm not good at writing action scenes and stuff… in fact I'm not all that good at writing full stop. But I'm learning. _

_Ragetti and Pintel I sort of assumed dropped the role of being pirates and are trying to be good men. __They don't want to die any time soon, they have their mortal souls to look after. _

_This chapter is a little rough as I have assignments after assignments due in for college, friends B-days to go to, dates to go on, and nights out to get drunk during. Therefore my editing time is limited. It makes me angry because I'd rather have this fic perfect, but alas, it can not be. Maybe when I finish it I will go back and play around, but not until I have posted every last chapter. _

_Anyway, please leave me a review because I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter. It is the first time I've really attempted any sort of action before, and since there is a bit more to come it would be helpful to know any points that need improving. _


	10. Out of the Frying Pan

_A/N. I am so sorry for the late update! Life is a little hectic at the mo, what with being on the verge of being kicked out of uni, and trying to finish my assignments last minuet, I did not have the chance to edit this chapter before now. Thank you for being so patient! Please don't abandon me… I only had two reviewers for the last chapter, so if you two abandon me I might just cry! _

_Anyway, here is a super long chapter! Well, it's longer than usual. Hopefully it is better written than usual to because I been and re written quite a bit of it… Anyway, Enjoy! _

**Chapter Ten: Out of the Frying Pan**

"_Children are happy because they don't have a file in their minds called "All the Things That Could Go Wrong."" _Marrianne Williamson

"How did you…" Dawn began, but Billie did not need to be asked; he stood up slowly, trying to control his anger, and strode over to where she stood slamming her against the bars. He leaned over with one hand on either side of her head and snarled,

"You foolish wrench!" he spat, "It was lucky they did not kill me on sight. I was snatched from that boat almost the second you left it! Damn you! Do you think of no body but yourself?"

Guilt bubbled in her stomach. She bit her lip, "You could have come," she tried, but it was the wrong thing to say,

"On your foolish endeavour to kill us all?" he screamed: Dawn winced and tried to disappear as far as she could into the bars behind her. "What in hell were you thinking?"

"I need to get onto the Black Pearl," she said: Billie stared at her incredulous,

"You are mad,"

"Are you coming?" she asked, ignoring his calling her insane, which she supposed she must seem to be on occasion.

"I am not. They have taken my bag and I must retrieve it…" he began,

"I have mine," she held up the knapsack off her side as emphasis,

"Then you are lucky," he said pushing himself away from her and began to pace, "But it is my own bag that I need," he cursed under his breath and kicked the filthy water, splashing it across the cell, "This is all your fault!" he snapped again, turning to glare at her.

"I admit, that a tiny bit of this MAY have been my doing," said Dawn as she advanced on the angry lad, "but it will get us nowhere if you insist on ranting and blaming me instead of figuring us a way out of here."

Billie's shoulders slumped, defeated, and his rapid pacing slowed to a more sedate pace. Finally, when he spoke, it was in a dejected voice,

"How did you plan on getting out of here?" he asked, raising his eyes to meet hers; Dawn turned a little sheepish and pointed up to the hole in the side of the ship,

"Cursed thing nearly hit me," Billie muttered and nodded to the adjacent cell where it had smashed a way through, "that was probably your fault as well," the last part was said so quietly that Dawn nearly missed it, and when she did hear it she chose not to comment. She was too tired to argue.

The pair fell silent and only the sounds of the battle up on deck could be heard, it was clear that the pirates had now boarded, and if Dawn did not act fast the Black Pearl would soon be sailing away.

She leant her head against the bars and sighed heavily. No thoughts of escape came to mind, and from what she observed of Billie's expression only a moment ago, none had come to him. It was odd how fate worked, Dawn pondered, what were the odds, that after all that had happened in the last hour, she would find herself once again with Billie. It was as though something up there just wanted them to work together; she snorted mentally, what were the chances of that happening? She recalled his expression when she turned around to see him glaring at her, the hate that was etched into his features ninety percent of the time that he looked at her.

It was then that the question she had asked herself when first realising that the cell was locked sprang to mind. It buzzed around her head, picking at her. There was something here, something she was missing… "Billie," she began, "would they lock a cell if no body was in it?" she asked with a frown, not knowing what she meant by the question, but feeling the need to ask it,

"Don't be idiot, why would they…. You're a genius!" he exclaimed and threw his arm up into the air, "The other cell! We did not check the door to the other cell!"

Dawn's mouth dropped open and she blinked stupidity. She was not a genius, she was an idiot, and sure enough the door to the cell adjacent to them turned out to be open; they were free to go.

They stood side by side by the open door, both not quite believing what they were seeing. They turned to one another, unsure and nervous." Well, I guess this is where we part. I hope you don't die," Dawn said with as much sincerity as she could put into a statement like that,

"Yeah, you too," Billie replied with an equal sincerity, "but if you do, say hi to my dad,"

"Um sure," Dawn said frowning, "and if you do, send him my condolences." They looked at one another for a moment as they each assessed the ridiculousness of their conversation, and let out a nervous laugh. They headed up the stairs together, as that was the only way out, but once they reached the top they threw one another one last parting glace before running into the fray.

The pirates and sailors were fighting sword to sword and Dawn had to duck as she ran to avoid being sliced. She had a plan, but it was not the best one she had ever thought up; she had seen it done in films, where a pirate cut a piece of the rigging and used it to swing across to the other ship.

She scrambled up the mast of the boat. Her hands clawed at the wood, and she gritted her teeth. The white sail of the boat fluttered above her, and she eyed it; a beacon of hope. Once she was high enough to reach to sail she tightened her legs around the mast and leant back, grasping for the course material. It folded in her clutch and she pulled herself up onto the thin frame of the top mast. The light wind caressed her face, cooling the beads of sweat that glistened on her brow.

Below her the clanks and clangs of swords echoed, and for a moment she was sure that she saw the small figure of Billie duck behind an open door. She sat upon the mast, breathing deeply. It was exhilarating, being up here above all that violence, like she was some kind of higher being looking down with pity upon the ragged fools. The sight of her grubby clothes and scratched arms pulled her from her dream, and she reasserted her mind to the task at hand. It wouldn't do to lose track now. Not when a battle raged below.

With her breath caught she tentatively stood up on the thin mast; it wobbled in the wind, and so she clutched the sail with one hand and held the other out to balance. Her heart thumped in her chest as she inched along the wooden beam, a tight rope walker at a circus. She had been to a circus once, when she was young, but those women had nets beneath them to catch them should they fall. She had no such net.

The sword Billie had given her clanged at her side, and she unsheathed it now, happy that it could be of some use to her. The rigging hung down from the masts and she picked one that looked to be well supported at the top, and was long enough to swing on. Taking a deep breath to steady her nerves she grasped the rope in both hands and leant as far backwards as she could without falling, and then she pushed off of the mast and through the air she flew. The wind wiped at her face sending her streams of hazel hair flying behind her. It was a truly amazing feeling and she laughed in delight. Her heart soared and for a moment she honestly thought that this was her calling.

She closed her eyes and sent a silent prayer to whoever might be listening. The joy of swing on the rope had come to an end, and fear once more settled in her chest. If she did not jump soon she would not make it to the ship and would instead fall down into the crashing waves. At the highest point of her swing, just as she was over the Black Pearl, she let go of the rope and opened her arms wide allowing her body to freefall through the air until she hit the black cotton sails and began to fall downwards.

With rushed panicked hands she clawed at the fabric, grabbing at the holes only to have them rip further and for her to lose hold. Her eyes were wide and panicked, and she continued to pray that she would not be killed, this would not be it. Her heart beat hard, her mind ran a mile a minuet, screaming at her for her stupidity. Every frantic grab left her empty handed and still falling. She was at the bottom of the sail when her hand finally caught something of substance; the wooden frame of the sail. She looked up at what she had hold of and sighed in relief, reaching up and grabbing it with her other arm.

It was slow work, but she soon hoisted herself up onto the mast, and there she sat for a moment, shaking. Her whole body trembled, and it suddenly seemed to strike her that she was not invincible.

"Ok," she breathed to herself, "never doing that again."

It was easy to get down from where she found herself as she only had to cut one of the ropes so that it fell down to the deck, and shimmy her way effortlessly down it.

Of course through all of this it did not occur to Dawn that her screaming had alerted the pirates on board of the ship to her presence. So when she finally dropped down with a relived smile onto the hard wooden deck, she found herself staring into the barrel of a just cocked pistol.

Dawn's eyes widened in horror and she blanched,

"What would a young sprog like ye be doin' on this fine ship o' mine?" the pirate said. He was a tall man, with a bushy beard and feral eyes. His breath stank of rum and tobacco, and his clothes, although finely made, were filthy. A ragged monkey with barred yellow teeth jumped up onto his shoulder and hissed at her, spitting, it's ratty fur stood on end. Dawn stared at the man, and at the pistol, more importantly the dark hole that she knew the small bullet would come flying out of and end her short life should she say the wrong thing. The large hat on his head told her that this must be the captain, and when he smiled showing at least four golden teeth she knew he was.

"Daddy?" Dawn tried,

"I don't be avin no son," he sneered and leant down to peer into Dawn's face, "Who the blazes are ye?" Dawn gulped and closed her eyes for. She had lied before, but she had rarely been this scared when she had done it.

"Walter Sparrow, my mother…" she began but drifted off at the look of rage that crossed the pirate's face,

"Ye think I'm Jack," the pirate said and gave a hideous laugh. Dawn trembling. It was a gruesome laugh, one that chilled even the hottest of blood. So this was a pirate, she thought to herself, backing away with tentative steps, "Jack be dead. Lost to Davy Jones, saw it with me own two eyes," Dawn shivered and wrapped her arms around her body,

"Who are you then?" she whispered fearfully,

"I be Captain Barbossa, most feared pirate to sail these seven seas," he leant down and peered at her once more before turning to one of his fellow pirates and shouting, "To the brigg with im!"

Back on the boat Billie was having very similar luck to Dawn. After parting from his female companion at the top of the stairway, his journey to the captain's quarters had been rather uneventful- if you did not count the fighting sailors and pirates that surrounded him. Unlike Dawn, who was rather brash when it came to things, he chose to move more stealthily through the ship, taking cover in various hiding places when he was spotted, as opposed to ducking and running, as Dawn did.

This method appeared to be a rather good one, but it took much more time, and Billie found himself stranded in many a hiding place for longer than he would like. He had just slipped behind the foremast to decide which direction he needed to go in next when a crack on the back of his head knocked him forwards and into unconsciousness.

When he awoke it was many hours later; the sun's orange glow had long sank beneath the horizon leaving the sky dark but for the millions of bright, white stars sprinkled across its surface. A cold chill crept over his skin and his body felt damp and clammy. He pushed his hands down onto the deck, feeling the cold wood against his palms, and pushed himself up onto his knees. His breath came out in puffs of mist before him and he shivered, pulling the scraps of his shirt closer around his body.

A sharp pain erupted at the back of his skull and he squeezed his eyes closed against the ache. His hand rubbed the tender spot; the hair was crusty with dried blood, and he winced at the large lump he felt. When the pain subsided to a dull throbbing he opened his eyes once more and peered about the ship.

A sickly green glow bathed the vessel giving it a bone-chilling ethical appearance. An eerie stillness echoed on the air; no crashing of the waves, no calling of seabirds, even the constant creaking of wood was gone. And yet it was not completely silent; sounds drifted along the none existent breeze, groans and whispers, other worldly, as though he was only half hearing them.

His courage told him to move, to get his knapsack, but it was his fear that made him: his fear that told him to flee this place and never return. He stood and walked with hurried steps towards the captains quarters. He averted his eyes from the porcelain faces of the dead, and prayed that he could close his ears of their mutterings. It was not right. Puffs of white mist drifted from between their pale blue lips, their clothes stained with blood, their eyes scared, screaming. He trembled and hurried on, his footsteps so loud in the stillness' the only sound of life.

A hazy light drifted from the captain's quarters. He edged closer to the open door and pressed his back up against the wood; he could hear a muttering from within, but it appeared as though only one man was in there, or else the other was not speaking. He took a deep breath and straightened his clothes with trembling hands: something was not right here, he could feel it, and it scared him. His hands were clammy, and when he felt his head he realised that that was clammy too, but it was not warm.

He shivered.

"I can do this," he whispered looking to the stars as though they would give him strength. With a determined step he turned and stood firmly in the doorway. It felt as though someone had just trickled ice cold water down his back; his jaw trembled; every hair on his body stood on end. There, before him, stood the captain of the ship; his face was pearly white except for a bruise on his right eye that stood out like ink on paper; his clothes were tattered and a stab wound to the right of his chest stained his shirt a deep sickening ruby; his eyes were glazed over and were staring unseeingly at Billie while his blue lips muttered a sequence of sounds in quick succession.

Billie crossed his heart and edged closer to the man, sick curiosity, trying to hear what came from between his lips,

"Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, et dimitte nobis  
debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris,"

"Give us today our daily bread," he whispered, translating the words, "and forgive us our debts," he shivered and wrapped his arms around his frame. Never before had the Lords Prayer made him feel so cold inside.

"Sailors!"

A voice sounded from up on deck and Billie froze: it was a voice that Billie knew instinctively, although he had only ever heard it once.

"Come, it is nearly time for you to rest, do not be afraid, you will soon be at peace,"

A cold weight settled in his stomach and he looked down at his body as though expecting it to be see though, or covered in a thick blood like the captain, "am I dead?" he whispered in horror. Thoughts of his mother came rushing into his mind, and then those of his little sister who he had never been nice enough too, would he never see them again? Would he never hug his mum and tell her that he was sorry, would she be mad? Would she find out by letter? His eyes became moist and tears ran down his cheeks. He couldn't be dead, not yet. Shaking his head he backed away from the captain, his steps were unstable; he couldn't make his body stop trembling. "No," he said firmly to the muttering form of the captain, as though it were him who told him he had died, and then he turned and ran blindly up on deck. He had to get off of the ship.

His ears rang and his head span as his feet pounded across the deck, he hit something and felt something grab him. He kicked, screamed, bit and scratched before he heard the voice once more, this time above him,

"Stop Sailor, it will do you no good,"

Billie froze in his arms, "dad?" he whispered, looking up to see an expression of horror pasted across his fathers face. "Dad," he said this time with more conviction, "Dad, I…" he began, but paused before backing away and wiping the tears from his eyes, "Am I? Am I dead?" he chocked and felt himself being pulled roughly forwards back into his fathers arms, a warm hand reached up and felt around his neck, a sigh of relief soon followed,

"No, thank goodness, Billie, son, no, you are not dead,"

Billie hugged his father tighter at those words, "And I am thankful too," he heard a sort of sadistic chuckle above him, "I would have had to be the one to inform your mother." At first Billie thought he was serious, but when he looked up into his fathers face he saw tears running down his cheeks. He had scared his father as much as he had scared himself.

"Now," the tone was sterner and Billie's eyes widened as he felt his father push in away slightly, "Tell me, what are you doing upon this ship when you should be at home, tucked up safely in your bed? Is your mother with you?"

Billie shook his head and took a step backwards,

"William Turner the third," his dad said in a menacing voice coming to tower over Billie,

"You gave me the map!" Billie exclaimed, jumping to his own defence, his fear of earlier forgotten with the appearance of his father, "A map of an island! Jack Sparrow gave it to me, said it was a letter from you!"

William Turner frowned and shook his head, "I gave you no such map, this has to be one of Jacks games. Damn you Jack. Billie, you are going home! Forget this foolishness! Once we have these men upon the Dutchman you will be returned to your mother."

"But father…" Billie tried, but to no avail

Despite his initial misgivings life upon the Flying Dutchman was not as miserable as he first expected. He and his grandfather had a grand time running about the ship in mock battles, waving swords and calling war cries. His heart near burst with joy as he thought over those precious moments, and he was quite sure he had never been so content.

Then, every night when his father was off duty, he would call Billie into his cabin and they would sit for hours on end, just talking. Billie told him of Dawn, of how she was the most annoying, brattiest girl he had ever met, and his father had laughed in a knowing way, and smiled at him with a sad, longing smile. He had told him also of Isabelle and of how she was just like her mother and he told him everything, from the time that they found a crab on the beach and roasted it for dinner, to the time their mum had forgotten about the tea party she had organised and had instead planned an improper and much frowned upon, outdoor meal over a fire on the beach. It was a magical time, but at the back of Billie's mind niggled the knowledge that this was not going to last forever, and very soon his time would be up.

The time came at the end of the week; he was crouched down behind the door to his father's cabin. His grandfather had entered moments before, and Billie had been certain they were going to talk about him. His grandfather had hugged him many times that day, and Billie knew that something was troubling the old man.

"I know ye love the boy, but it's been a week William! He's not meant to be 'ere!" his grandfathers words caused tears to well up in his eyes, a feeling of betrayal seeped through him.

"One more week father, please; he is my son! I have not seen him in so many years, look how he is grown, and it will be many more years until I see him again."

"You know the rules. Remember what happened to Davy Jones William; I do not wish you the same fate, but you are the Captain. I offer only my opinion."

Billie looked down at the wood of the deck and frowned, recalling the stories of the captain before his father. Could he be the reason his father turned into a sea monster? He wouldn't want that. But he did not want to leave.

"You are right. Tomorrow it will be. Will you take him ashore?"

"I would have it no other way."

The answer came so suddenly that Billie was surprise he hadn't thought of it sooner. He had ran away from one parent, why not run away from another? The map may not have been given to him by his father, but the curiosity over what was hidden was too strong to let lie. He had to find out what was on that island, and he would do anything to do so.

That night, Billie snuck out of his cosy hammock, and flung his knapsack over his shoulder; no voices sounded: it was time. He crept to the door of the cabin and gave a sharp look each way; no one could be seen, and so he shuffled his way out on deck and stood with his back pressed against the wood behind him. He had made it this far; he took a deep breath to steady his nerves before tip toeing across to where the lifeboats should be.

"Not good," he said to himself; only one boat was hung on the side of the ship, and that was the tattered old dingy he had travelled in when he had been brought over to the Dutchman, but it was not the state of the boat that troubled him; it was the ten little silver bells that had been stringed along the side of it.

He glanced around quickly; there was still no one around. With trembling fingers he lifted a length of rope from out of his knapsack and tied one end to a rusty hook that was sticking out of the ships railing; he let the other end dangle down the side of the ship and into the small rowing boat. The boat moved slightly at the impact, his breath caught, he paused, not daring to move, not daring to breath, but the boat stopped moving and the bells stayed silent. He barley refrained from whooping out in joy, and settled for a relived sigh and a manic grim.

"Now for the tricky part," he whispered.

The side of the ship was tricky to climb over in silence, but Billie was pretty sure no one had heard him. He took the rope in both hands and leant back so that he could walk down the side of the ship in relative ease.

"We're rascals, scoundrels, villans and knaves.

We're devils and black sheep, really bad eggs…"

Billie froze. He knew that song; it was his favourite lullaby as a child, and he knew that voice; it was his fathers. The sound of footfalls was coming nearer. He held his breath and slowly eased his body forwards so that he was as close to the side as he could get. The feet stopped. They were right above him. His hands shook as he clung onto his rope.

"What are you planning Jack?" Will said in a breathy whisper before turning and walking away.

Billie let loose the breath he was holding and kicked off once more. Just as he reached the boat he stopped and took from his bag a lump of bread he had stolen from the kitchens earlier that night. He had taken it to serve as breakfast, but now it had a much more important use. He wrapped the rope around one arm and used the other to pull off a little section of bread, which he then placed in his mouth to give it moisture, before pulling it out and squashing it between his fingers until it turned rubbery. With great care he then leant down to the first bell and wrapped the bread around the small clapper in the centre. He then repeated this painstaking process with the other ten bells that surrounded the small boat.

Once he had completed this task he climbed back up the rope and after peering over the railing and seeing no one, he clambered back on deck. All that was left to do now was to lower the boat into the ocean. He checked for any more booby traps, but it appeared as though his father did not think he would get passed the bells.

He eased the boat down into the lapping waves before climbing down the rope once more. The rope did not reach all the way down to the boat, and he had to drop the last meter or so. The boat rocked dangerously as he landed in it, and he clutched the sides with his hands. Sea water splashed into the boat and left him sat, cold and wet. Now all he had to do was head to shore. He looked around his vessel for a set of oars and groaned. There weren't any. They must have been taken out.

"Damn it," he swore and let out a great huff. This escape plan was not going as well as he expected it to. He looked around in vain for anything that could serve as an oar, but all he could see was the sea, and his father's ship.

There was only one option left, and it was not a pleasant one. With gritted teeth he un-buttoned his shirt and took it off; the cold air his whipped at his skin causing him to shiver and rub his hands up and down his arms to try and warm himself up. He put his waistcoat back on his bare skin, it did not offer much warmth, but it offered protection from the cool wind.

He closed his eyes and prayed for this to work. He took out his dagger and placed it in his mouth, then he jumped up as high as he could so that he could grab onto the rope he used to climb down, and using all his effort he pulled himself up so that he was a couple of foot up it. Below him dangled a long bit of rope and so he leant down and used the dagger to cut this rope free. The rope fell onto the side of the boat, half of it dangled precociously close to the water. He groaned and looked up once more into the heavens to pray for help before dropping down into the rowing boat and diving over to where the rope was slipping into the sea. He just managed to grab the very end of the rope and sighed in relief as he righted himself once again.

Now that he finally had all the tools he needed, he cut the length of rope into four equal parts, then he carefully cut four holes into his shirt, one at each corner. He took threaded each piece of rope through the holes and then tied the top two to his wrists, and the bottom two to his upper arms. He then sat in the centre of the ship with his arms up in the air. It worked. It actually worked. He couldn't stop laughing as the wind hit his sail and he began to move.

Half an hour later the initial joy had worn off to be replaced by the agony of holding ones arms up in the air continuously. After an hour of sailing like this Billie came to the conclusion that it was no longer physically possible for him to hold his arms up any longer, and so he dismantled his sail. The Flying Dutchman was now just a speck in the distance, so he put his shirt back on his frame and curled up in the bottom of the boat to sleep the rest of the night away. He would go wherever the current took him.

Meanwhile, in the brigg of the Black Pearl, Dawn was finishing her scraps of bread, her skinny arms wrapped around her grumbling stomach.

_A/N. Hope that wasn't too bad? The quote at the beginning was meant to be ironic, I don't know if you cached that, but it amused me. laughs _

_So… Dawn is in trouble… Billie takes after his father and gets knocked out… meets his father and runs away… again… I think it is my most eventful chapter to date! So, please leave me a review! A hellovalot of effort went into this one, and not just with the length, but because it was damn hard to write. _

_I wonder what on earth our dear Billie will do now… and how will young Dawn get out of that brigg… Join us next time on, Of Theives and Vagabonds… _

_Sorry. That was sad. _

_Take care guys! Xx Chicklepea_


	11. The Art of Commandeering

Sorry for the long wait. I've been busy. I'm going to post the next few chapters over the next few days and try and get this story finished off.

**The Art of Commandeering **

With morning came land, and Billie had never been in better spirits at the sight of land before in his life. His body ached and his throat was dry, but none of this mattered because in just an hour's time he would be safe from his father.

He bounced up and stood tall, holding his hand above his eyes to stop the glare of rising sun. A small dock littered with fishing vessels and grubby misshapen ships lay before him; he smiled. There would be food on land, real food, and water; nice, clean, fresh water. Then he would find a crew, and he would head to his island and claim the treasure that awaited him. He knew now that it had been a mistake that he had gotten that map off of Jack Sparrow, but such treasure that would excite Jack would be a great benefit to his family and him.

It was a gloriously sunny day; people were milling around the harbour, going about their businesses with cheerful smiles and joyful shouts. When his little boat hit the dock he bounded off of it and twirled around in delight at solid ground beneath his feet.

"Name?"

Billie stopped in his twirl and blushed; a tall man with long scraggly hair was speaking to him: his voice was gravely as though he had only just woken up, and his face was twisted into a sneer. He craned his neck to look up at the mans face and tried a hesitant smile,

"Gobbard, Sir," he said, taking up Dawn's alias,

The man leaned over and peered down into Billie's face, "Oy!" he shouted, speckling Billie with spit, "Hornbolt!"

Billie frowned; what was a Hornbolt? He shivered nervously. Something wasn't quite right… Was Dawn a wanted woman, or man, well, boy? He looked around the port and his eyes widened in fear as an old grimy man stomped towards them; his dark beady eyes looked wild, and his long jacket flapped in breeze; he looked fearsome. Perhaps he was the wielder of the Hornbolt.

As the Hornbolt wielder approached the tall man straightend back up and took a firm grip on Billie's shoulder, "Aye?" the man said as he came closer. The tall man nodded his head towards Billie; Hornbolt leant his head down a little and squinted at Billie,

"Name's Gobbard. Didn't ye say that be the name of the sprog who threw 'imself ov'er board ye ship?" Billie jumped and stared up at the scraggily haired man in shock; Hornbolt was the man before him, and he knew Dawn.

Hornbolt twisted his weathered face into a scowl and reached a grubby hand up to scratch his chin, "Aye, 'twas. But this ain't him."

"My brother!" Billie exclaimed, his heart beating rapid beats against his rib cage, "Walter is my brother, twin brother, we are twins, and he is my brother. What news of him?" He felt a bead of sweat forming on his brow and he wiped it away with a shaking hand.

"He be dead," Hornbolt scowled and turned to the tall man, "Ye dragged me ov'er here to see the twin of me dead shipmate?"

"I thought he be lyin. Don't look too trustful now do 'e?"

Billie looked down at himself and cringed at his torn, blood spattered clothing.

"This be Tortuga, ain't nobody looking too trustworthy around here mate… pirates, the lot of em,"

The two men turned back to look at Billie who's eyes widened once more at the attention of two lethal looking men, "I'm not a pirate!" he said,

Hornbolt looked doubtful, as did the other man, but neither seemed inclined to do anything. "Three shillings to leave yer boat ere, lad, and if ye not be a pirate, why be ye carrying a pirates sword?" the tall man said smirking,

Billie reached his hand down to finger the scabbard that was stuck through the belt on his hips; he frowned; he had made this sword, "This is no pirate's sword, this is my sword," he said.

"And who be givin' an urchin like ye'self such a fine sword to be playin' with?"

"I made it," Billie said honestly, "I worked as a blacksmith for a time, while my brother became a sailor. I came in search of him… but he is dead so it is little matter,"

The tall man raised an eyebrow at the boy, "Ye seem unaffected at the news of your brother's demise."

"We were not close," Billie said carefully, knowing now that he was treading on very thin ground,

"Then why do ye seek 'im?"

"To bring about said demise," said Billie and arranged his face into that of a heated, revenge seeking, young man.

"And the three shillings?"

Billie's jaw quavered, "I….I…."

It was not that he had no money, but he knew that the three guineas that he had deep in his pocket would only reaffirm their belief in him being a young pirate. He glanced around the port quickly, searching for an escape; people were milling around everywhere, but not so many as to offer cover. He dove his hand into his bag searching for something that might be offered as payment.

His hand froze in his search. He opened the knapsack further and peered inside; a pair of old pistols, one of his best white shirts and a pair of his better breaches. This was not his bag, this was Dawn's bag, and the little hell-cat had stolen his clothes! Of course this was not what really made him pale, what really had him scared was that he no longer had the map. The map now lay in the hands of Dawn. He groaned.

"Be there a problem, Mr Gobbard?" the tall man asked,

Billie glanced up at the two men with a look of pure hopelessness and let the bag fall to his side once more. "I have no money," he said, letting his gaze drop once more to the ground.

"Neither do the hundred other, no good, ragamuffins that come to this shore. Empty ye pockets,"

Billie blanched.

"Be there a problem, Gobbard?"

Billie shook his head and moved his hand in the direction of his pocket, but instead of going in he grabbed the hilt of his sword and pulled it out, pointing the tip at Hornbolt and the tall man, who backed away from the weapon,

He swung the sword a around in a lethal arc and the sailors dove back, away from the blade. Billie sheathed the sword and ran as fast as legs could carry him.

The men did not seem too inclined to follow him far; Billie suspected that such barbaric behaviour was not all that unusual in Tortuga. Yet still he ran, through the cobbled streets, ignoring the shouts of the street vender's whose carts he'd knocked as he barged through. He finally took sanctuary in a small public house and stood near the door for a good few minuets bent double trying to catch his breath.

The pub was bursting with customers despite the early hour: dozens of beer guzzling, belly belching, rowdy customers. He squirmed his way through them and slipped into an empty seat right near the back of the pub. He desperately wished for rest, but the wooden bench was hard and unconformable, and the table was sticky with stale ale. He fidgeted and wiggled his buttocks to get a more comfortable position, but it seemed impossible and he was certain that the movement had just cased him a splinter in his right cheek. These benches were designed for the intoxicated, he supposed.

He sat with his head against the sticky wood for a short while, when a joyful voice caught his notice. His mother had told him of men like this, and he listened with not a little amusement;

"Aye ladies, I have a whole fleet of ships at me command. Why, just last week we sailed out o'er yonder for there were whispers in the air of a terrible monster that was wreaking havoc on the fishermen. I got me crew together, and stood high up on the deck and we found the monster and cut it down! Twas a terrible battle, one man almost lost his arm to the beast. But I, Captain Gibbs did save the poor sailor with a sweep of me sword,"

Billie head flew up at the familiar name. His eyes widened as he automatically scanned the pub, seeking out the voice. Could this man really be Gibbs? This was too good to be true! He would not need to talk a group of half drunken men into helping him commandeer a ship; he would have Gibbs do it. All he needed was the proper incentive. Of course first and foremost he needed the mans attention, and he was not going to get that while he was surrounded by ladies, if they could be called such a thing.

A mischievous smile graced his lips and he bounded up out of his uncomfortable chair and strolled over to the table Gibbs was sat at, "Grandpa!" he called, and his lip twitched, "Grandpa, here you are! Grandma expected you home hours ago, did you get her foot ointment like she asked?"

It took all his self control not to laugh at the horrified, yet baffled look that crossed Gibbs weathered face. The ladys' faces, on the other hand, held no bafflement and only displayed a livid sort of horror.

"Well I never!"

"Disgusting pig!"

"And a lying scoundrel too!"

Billie bit his lip as he watched the three ladies storm off to another part of the pub, where he supposed they would find another gentleman willing to tell them more tall tales.

"Who in the bloody blazes of the darkest hell be ye?"

"I am William Turner," Billie said with a smirk, Gibbs raised a bushy eyebrow and so Billie added, "The Third," with a wink and a tipping of his imaginary hat.

"William Turner ay? Son of Elizabeth Turner I suppose. You ought ta know, tis bad luck to lie to a lady,"

Billie gave a wider smirk, "Of course Mr Gibbs," he said, "but since my lie, to you, was in itself bad luck, it is safe to assume that the lie was spoken to bring about the bad luck you accumulated already against your person, due to the delightful lies you were just serenading those there ladies with,"

Gibbs blinked and shook his head before saying, "Aye, that could be so. Now what is it that ye wants?"

"I do not come seeking you on my own accord Mr Gibbs," Billie said as he manoeuvred himself around the table to take a seat opposite, "I come seeking you under order from my captain,"

"Then what be it that your captain wants?"

"You, Mr Gibbs, and a crew of willing men," Gibbs frowned and leant forward in his seat to study Billie, he then leant back and took a swig of his ale,

"Who be your captain?" he asked suspiciously, "and what happened to his crew to need a new one?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow is my captain, and in his possession is a map of great value that will lead he and his crew to an island where lies riches beyond our wildest dreams. And I am his only member of crew at this time."

"What time be ye needing a crew for?"

"Dusk, Mr Gibbs,"

"And where be Jack?" Billie paused and looked around in search of inspiration; a lady with a large bossom was leading a half drunken man up the stairs of the inn: Billie grinned, "The captain is, erm, entertaining I believe,"

"Ahh, is that so?" Gibbs said with a slight blush, "Then I'll just be workin on that crew then, shall I? Since you already having made that activity unavailable to myself,"

Billie gave an apologetic smile and stood from the table, "Have the crew at the docks just before nightfall, Good day Mr Gibbs,"

"Good day Mr Turner,"

Billie was trembling when he left the inn. That was the longest, and most dangerous bluff he had ever played and he knew that it was not over yet. He decided to spend the day getting some much needed sleep, since his previous nights uncomfortable sleep had made him weary.

He found rest down a dark ally beneath an old brown sack. Spending the day in one of the inns was ruled out due to his fear of getting caught by someone, since he was sure that a boy of his age out alone and looking for shelter would be considered suspicious. Of course, this was his first time in Tortuga.

When he woke, stiff, and a little smellier than he was when he went to sleep, he headed out of the ally and onto the dirty cobbled street. It was with a sense of foreboding that he crept down the streets and peered through the grimy glass of various shops in search of food; despite the fact that it was daylight, the tall buildings so close together made the street uncommonly dark.

A sign stood propped against the wall of an old inn advertised meals and so he decided that it would be safe enough to dine there. It was a different Inn to which he had found Gibbs in earlier that day, and so he decided that it would be rather unlikely for him to run into Gibbs.

The food was bad and the service worse, but he knew better than to complain. A few harsh glances in his direction when he pulled a face at the bowl of pig slop slammed before him informed him of the locals 'protective' personalities.

He forced the grub down his neck and savoured the feel of a full stomach. Dusk was just about falling and so he paid for his meal discreetly with a guinea, shoving the change he was given down deep in his pocket before any unsavoury folk saw.

"Ten fine men Mr Turner,"

Billie raised his eyebrows at the line up of men before him; they did not seem to be the most pleasant, or trustworthy sort, but he supposed that they were the best he was going to get.

"Now, where be Jack?"

"On the ship Mr Gibbs," Billie said, while still looking up and down the line of men,

"Which ship, Mr Turner?" Mr Gibbs said looking a little suspiciously at Billie, Billie panicked, not having thought to what he would do when it came time to picking a ship,

"That ship!" he said, swinging his arm out towards a random ship, "Captain said that all men are to board the ship and set sail immediately."

"Are ye sure that is what the captain said Mr Turner? Did he not express a slight need to be seeing the crew before we set sail?"

Billie's stomach churned and he gulped, "um, no Mr Gibbs, Captain was adamant that the crew board the ship and set sail immediately,"

"And are ye sure it is that ship that Jack be on?"

Billie turned and his eyes widened at the grandeur of the ship before him, he cursed himself for not looking where he pointed, "Yes Mr Gibbs," he said, his voice holding a nervous tremble.

The crew men shrugged and muttered between themselves at this unusual procedure before, to Billie's amazement, heading for the ship. He watched them as they boarded the fine ship, and shook his head in astonishment when no one appeared to stop them.

"Are ye coming Mr Turner?" Gibbs shouted back to Billie, eyeing him in bemusement.

Billie took a place at the side of the ship so that he could see all activity on dock as the crew pulled the ship out of the harbour and out to sea. Only one lone man on deck seemed to realise that was happening and was running down the docks, waving his arms. Billie laughed at his own brilliance.

"Now that we are left port Mr Turner, can you tell me where Jack be?"

Billie stopped his laughter. It was like someone just dropped a ten ton weight onto his gut. "He is… urm…."

And then a miracle happened.

Billie's mouth slowly began to drop open as his eyes went past Gibbs shoulder and fell on a tiny rowing boat bobbing in the ocean; he squinted,… surely it couldn't be? There wasn't a chance it was possible… But there he was…

"He's there," Billie said in disbelief pointing behind Gibbs to a small boat bobbing up and down in the ocean, and sure enough, there in the centre of the boat swigging on a bottle of rum was Jack Sparrow himself.

"Jack!" Gibbs bellowed down, catching the attention of the Pirate captain, "What in the name of Davy Jones are ye doin down there?"

Billie ran to the side of the ship and looked down to where Jack was looking up at the boat in incredulous bafflement. "Captain!" he shouted down, hoping to God that this worked, "I got the ship and crew that you asked for!"

The incredulous bafflement changed to horror as Jack Sparrows eyes rested on the face of Billie.

"A rope, men! For the Captain! Get a move on!" Gibbs shouted to whatever crew member were listening.

Jack sprang from his rowing boat and grabbed hold of the rope that was thrown, before effortlessly climbing up it and bounding up onto the deck. Billie tried his most innocent smile as Jack frowned at him.

"Aye," he said looking around the boat in confusion, "Aye, Captian here… Mr Gibbs, thank ye for me crew… and me ship,"

"But ye already had the ship Captain. Mr Turner told us ye were already aboard. We just sailed it out of port,"

"Aye: that I did… That I did… Mr Turner… the third… young Mr.. Turner, Billie my boy, a word if you please," Jack gave a half bow and swung his arm out to the helm of the ship. Billie led the way, his head down as he dragged his feet dejectedly. He was in so much trouble.

When they reached the helm Jack took his position on the wheel and stared out at the horizon for a couple of minuets before saying, with a touch of pride, "I knew ye were a pirate. Ye get it from ye mother,"

"My father was the pirate," said Billie raising his head to look Jack in the eye, once he realised he was not in trouble.

"Aye, ye father be a pirate, a fine pirate is your father. Honest man. Good man. You on the other hand take after ye mother,"

Billie frowned, not sure if what Jack said was a complement or an insult; he suspected it was a little of both.

"Now, what I really be wonderin', is what would be a young Turner such as yourself be doing tricking honest, good, if a little odd looking, men, into commandeering a fine, beauty of a ship like this one, and setting sail without the captain ye told em they be under the command of,"

"They have their Captain," said Billie nodding at Jack, "You are their captain are you not?"

"Aye, I be their captain, but unless ye be dabbling in the art of witchcraft, which I doubt, I am quite sure ye did not know I would be floating by on me ship,"

"Ship?" said Billie incredulously,

"Aye, me ship. I am a captain, and a captain captains a ship, if he doesn't captain a ship then he is not a captain, savvy?"

Billie rolled his eyes.

"Now, are ye goin to tell me what ye plan is, or am I going to have to throw you in the brigg and ask ye again in seven days?"

"A friend of mine was captured. I wish to save my friend," Billie said,

"And the name of said friend?"

"Gobbard,"

"Gobbard?" Jack pulled a face and staggered away from Billie,

"Yes, Gobbard, Walter Gobbard to be precise,"

Jack peered at Billie and shook his head, "Gobbard be a man then?" he questioned; Billie nodded a crease in his brow, "Not a rum murdering wrench?" Billie shook his head and said,

"Not that I am aware of,"

Jack stroked his beaded goatee, a thoughtful look on his tanned face, "And where be this Walter?"

Now Billie smiled, knowing that his next words would seal the deal, "On your precious ship; The Black Pearl I believe is her name."

A gleam glinted in Jacks eyes and a smile teased at the corners of his mouth, "The Black Pearl," he said wistfully, "Aye, I'll take ye to this Walter bloke…" Billie grinned, "This Walter bloke," Jack continued, and raised a grubby finger in question, "he not be in any… impending, soon to be, incomprehensible peril that might lead to his untimely and devastating death, of which might prevent us from taking a tinsy little detour before we rush in and save the day?"

"What kind of detour?" asked Billie curiously,

"The kind of detour that might lead us to some shiny little trinkets, what say you? We go and claim these wee trinkets, and then we go and save your bonny, ur, boy!" At Billie's grin Jack dug into his coat and pulled out a grubby brown bottle with a cork shoved firmly in the top. Billie's eyes widened and the smile slipped off of his face.

Jack took the bottle and grabbed the cork between his teeth to pull it out, it came out with a resounding pop; Billie fidgeted and backed slowly away from Jack, wrapping his arms around his chest and shivering. Jack reached wiggled two grubby fingers before he eased them into the neck of the bottle and pincered the roll of parchment. He pulled the roll out with a flourish and held it up proudly as he unrolled it; his smug grin turned to one of alarm.

"Dear William Turner, The Third…are you well? Are you completing you studies… being good… bla… bla… bla… Love, your Father, William Turner, The Second…" Jack lowered the parchment and peered over it at where Billie was slowly trying to edge away, "One, ye ain't nearly moving fast enough, and two, ye are on a ship, there ain't nowhere to run to. Now, Billie my boy, where be that bottle you pilfered the last time we met?"

"I…I don't have it," said Billie wincing as the feel of cold steel was pressed against his neck, "Dawn has it… It was in my bag and she took my bag when she went over to The Black Pearl and…You have to believe me! I swear to you that I do not lie!" Jack put a little more pressure on the blade and raised his eyebrow disbelievingly, "now, I do not lie now Jack, please believe me! Dawn has the map!"

"Who be Dawn? Ye know, for someone who claims to tell the truth it appears as though there are certain gaping holes in ye story… Now, you tell me where my map is and I won't slit your throat, savvy?"

"Dawn has it… Gobbard, Gobbard is Dawn, I swear to you Jack Sparrow!"

"Captain!"

"What?" Billie asked, beads of sweat dripping down his face,

"Captain Jack Sparrow,"

Billie's eyes grew to the size of saucers as he trembled and squeaked out, "Captain, Captain Jack Sparrow! I swear I'm…" Jack dropped his sword to his side and Billie stopped talking, instead he stared at Jack in both fear and anticipation,

"Always a bloody damsel," Jack shook his head sorrowfully, "Rum?" Jack pulled a bottle out and shoved it unceremoniously towards Billie who reached out and clutched a trembling hand around the bottle.

"Thank you," he said, lifting the bottle up to eye level so that he could see the swirling liquid inside,

"It was predominately made fer drinking," said Jack, tapping the bottle in Billie's hand and giving him a leery smile,

"I know what Rum is," snapped Billie, and lifted the bottle to his lips and taking a large gulp of the liquid. He coughed and spluttered at the unexpected burning in his throat, he looked up with watery eyes and wiped a hand roughly over his mouth.

Jack smirked.

Billie gritted his teeth and took another swig. This one didn't burn as much and he managed a smug smile in Jack's direction. Jack merely widened his smirk and reached out his hand to swipe the bottle back from Billie, "Try not to tell yer dear old mum, eh?" he said, before swaggering off with the bottle.


End file.
